


Worth Something

by patchfire, raving_liberal



Category: Glee
Genre: Adulting, Alive Finn Hudson, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, American Football, Arguing, Best Friends, College, Divorced Carole Hudson & Burt Hummel, Drunken Kissing, Friends to Lovers, Graduate School, M/M, Post-Season/Series 04, Post-Series, Real Time More Or Less, Relationship Discussions, Sex Talk, Social Worker Puck, Super Bowl 50, Teacher Finn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 11:07:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5705404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchfire/pseuds/patchfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/raving_liberal/pseuds/raving_liberal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn and Puck are nearly finished with college, and despite discussing their individual plans, they still haven’t talked about the simple fact that they could be in different cities as early as June of 2016.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. January, Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by **david of oz** (with an assist by gleennui).

Puck is the first one back to the dorm room, three days before spring semester starts. It’s not like he hasn’t seen Finn in the almost one month exactly since fall semester exams ended, but the two of them had mutually agreed they’d spend this last winter break at the apartments their mothers each have. The dorm smells like it’s been empty for one day less than a month, stale and a little musty, but nothing rotten, which means they had remembered to empty the mini-fridge, take out the trash, and grab every last bit of laundry. 

One more semester of college. When Finn had enrolled for the summer term of 2013, he’d convinced Puck to do the same. Finn had started fall of 2013 as a proper sophomore, and by the end of the summer of 2014, Puck had caught up, too, starting junior year with enough hours to be considered a junior. Their graduation applications for May were already submitted, and now they’re back at the University of Lima, getting ready for classes for the last time. 

Out of all their high school classmates, Puck and Finn are two of the only three who will be graduating on time, even if they look ahead at the former members of the class of 2013 and their projected graduation date of May 2017. Puck drops his bags, full of clean laundry, onto the floor, and lets himself smile smugly. No one would have guessed it’d be the dumb jocks who made good. 

Puck only has three classes, technically, but one of them is his capstone practicum, one’s the seminar _about_ the practicum, and the final one is his very last elective. His desk has the same mix of applications for master’s programs, jobs, and internships as it did when he left back in December, and Puck decides with one glance it can probably wait until tomorrow, after he and Finn have gone to buy their books. 

Finn’s desk is a similar mess of applications, though as far as Puck knows, they’re all for teaching jobs, and Puck winces as a familiar sensation starts in his gut. Neither of them has really brought up the fact that they could end up in different cities as early as June. It’s the worst part about being nearly finished, to Puck’s way of thinking. Neither of them will even be on campus most of the day, since Finn has his student teaching, and then suddenly in May, sixteen years of being together will be over. 

It doesn’t have to be, Puck knows. There’s some overlap between their two stacks of applications, and it’d be pretty easy for them to make their decisions based on finding a city where they can be roommates again. That isn’t really what Puck wants. He’s almost certain it’s not what Finn really wants, either, but they haven’t done anything about it. 

There’s always been something, and Puck knows that’s what this last semester has to be about for him, on the non-academic side. He and Finn have almost exactly four more months to figure out what they’re going to be to each other. Maybe he’ll mention something to Finn about fewer frat parties since they have faux-jobs and have to wean themselves off the parties anyway, and they can use that extra time to navigate it. Or they can use the extra time to keep not talking about it or dating other people or handling family issues, they way they have for over two years. 

Puck grabs the groceries before any of the refrigerated stuff gets too warm, putting away the milk and juice, plus some frozen breakfast sandwiches. Finn’ll bring a lot of leftovers from Carole, cereal, and probably some pizza coupons. They’d duplicated part of their gifts to each other for Hanukkah and Christmas with pizza gift cards, so whenever the dining hall is serving fish, at least they have an alternative.

Then Puck unzips his bags and starts unloading his clean laundry. It’s not like he’d made his mom do it—he hadn’t—but free washing and drying at his mom’s is a lot better than a dollar in quarters per wash in the dorm basement. He’s putting away the last of his clean t-shirts when he hears Finn’s footsteps and then his key in the door. 

“Welcome back,” Puck says, craning his neck to look around the bunk beds. 

“Hey,” Finn says as the door swings open. “Already got most of your stuff put away, huh?”

“You’re the only one who’d believe I actually like things put away and not on the floor,” Puck says. 

“I’m the only one who’s been seeing you do it first hand for, oh, a thousand years,” Finn says. He drops his own bags on the floor near the bunk beds. 

“God, we’ve been in college a lot longer than I thought,” Puck says with a grin. “How’s your mom?” 

“She’s doing good. She’s been on some dates!” Finn says. 

Puck whistles. “I don’t think my mom intends to ever go on a date again. She’s looking at another forty-odd years of being alone.” 

“Yeah, but she’s always seemed happier without having to put up with other people’s shit,” Finn says. “My mom doesn’t like to be alone. She never has, you know?”

“Yeah, I remember some doozies,” Puck says. “Is Kurt still doing his attempt at Matchmaking 2.0?” 

Finn half-shrugs, doing the little head-bobble Kurt always used to do. “He’s mostly backed off on it. I think Burt finally said something to him about minding his own business.”

“It’s good of Burt to start parenting now that Kurt’s twenty-two,” Puck says with a snort. He tosses his bag under the bunk beds and sits down in his desk chair. Finn starts unpacking his bag, which appears to contains a lot more teacher-clothes than it did when he left for the break. 

“Yeah. It sucks it turned out like that, but it’s not like Kurt calling Mom up is going to change anything,” Finn says. He holds up a blazer or sportcoat of some type. “Shit. I think I need more hangers.” 

“I think I’ve got two or three empty ones you can take,” Puck says. “I can’t remember, do you have to do any classes on campus or just the teaching?” 

“I’ve got my last elective, but it’s 19th Century British Poetry, so we’ll have to see how that goes,” Finn says. 

Puck makes a face. “At least they had a class about modern novels I could take before I have to leave campus. I just hope they’re not all depressing.” 

“Oh, I saw the reading list for that. They’re all depressing.”

“Dammit,” Puck says as he groans. “I’m going to make you look through those master’s programs and if they have depressing reading, you just tell me to get a job.” 

“Sure,” Finn says, laughing a little. “Sounds fair, I guess.”

“See, at least you don’t have to decide between multiple things on multiple paths,” Puck says. “Why’d I let you talk me into college again?” 

“I’m pretty sure you talked yourself into college, right along with talking me into not screwing around at college,” Finn points out. 

“No. Shh. I’m blaming you for the depressing novels and the applications on my desk right now.” 

“If it helps you sleep at night, dude,” Finn says, putting away the last of his clothes. “You eat yet?”

Puck shakes his head. “If I had one more variation on casserole, I was going to cry, and then Mom would’ve cried, too.” 

“Want to hit the dining hall?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Puck says as he stands up. “Bookstore in the morning?” 

“My student loan disbursement says no, but my syllabus says yes,” Finn says. 

Puck laughs. “Exactly.”

 

The first night back in the dorm is the first good sleep Puck’s had in awhile, except for a couple of nights during the break, and he doesn’t examine that too closely. The dining hall breakfast is exactly as mediocre as ever, and then he and Finn walk through the overnight snow and below-zero wind chill to the bookstore. 

An hour later, they’re still in the bookstore, and Puck sighs. “You’d think we would have learned by now.” 

“We’ll have learned it for sure by next semester, when we don’t have to come back,” Finn says. 

“Oh, God,” Puck says with a slight whimper. “Why do I even have applications for a master’s? Why did I major in social work? What have I done?” 

“Because you’re a good person who wants to make the world a better place,” Finn says, balancing his books in one arm as he claps Puck on the shoulder. “That’ll get you through the next couple of years, right?”

“There’s a reason _I_ give the pep talks around here,” Puck says. “That was weak.” 

“Hey now, I don’t have as much time to work on my pep talks, or I’d be _really_ good at them!” Finn says. 

“The first meeting of the seminar about the practicum is listed as ‘time management’ on my syllabus. You should come listen in,” Puck says. 

“I’m an excellent time manager. I just only have twenty-four hours in my day, and I’ve got to sleep sometime.”

“Hmm.” It’s an opening, and Puck decides that the line at the bookstore is as good a time as any to take it. “We probably should cut back on the parties.” 

“Yeah?” Finn says, then nods. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“I don’t think teachers or social workers go out every week,” Puck says a little wryly. “Probably more like once a month.” 

“Probably not even once a month. It’s not like we’re going to be rolling in money,” Finn says. 

“Yeah, we didn’t exactly go the fame and fortune route, did we?” Puck says. He shakes his head and looks around, and since he doesn’t immediately see anyone they know, he turns back to Finn. “We really are going to have to—”

“Hey, Puck,” a semi-familiar male voice says. Puck turns, feeling his eyebrows scrunching together, and there in front of him is Tim, also known as the guy Puck went out with a few times around midterms, spring of junior year, which is perfect timing. “I was hoping I’d run into you!”

“Tim,” Puck says in what he hopes is a friendly but unenthusiastic tone. “Yeah, bookstore a day or two before the semester’s where everyone is.”

“You taking a lot of classes this time?" Tim asks, eyeing the stack of books in Puck’s arms. 

“Last English elective,” Puck says. “Other than that, I’ll mostly be off-campus.” If Puck’s lucky, Tim will get the message of ‘don’t look for me’, but part of the reason Puck stopped going out with Tim in the first place was that he wasn’t great at getting the message. 

“Cool. Almost done, huh?” Tim asks, still apparently unable to pick up that message. 

“Last semester, yeah,” Puck says, giving Finn his best ‘please help me’ look. Finn just shrugs helplessly.

Tim plows on again without even glancing at Finn. “Anyway, since I _did_ run into you, I was wondering if you wanted to get together and tr—”

“Oh, shit,” Finn suddenly says loudly. “I left my student ID in the room.”

“I’ll go get it if you save our spot in line,” Puck says as fast as he can, already handing the books in his arms to Finn. 

“Yeah, sure,” Finn says. 

“Sorry, gotta run,” Puck says to Tim, ducking out of the line and then out of the bookstore into the main student center. Since Finn probably didn’t really manage to leave his ID and not his wallet, Puck heads into one of the bathrooms and waits for the all-clear. Sure enough, after about a minute, Puck receives a text that says _I have my ID, but you can bring me a coffee now that he’s gone._

Puck snorts. _Oh I see how it is_ he sends back, but when he leaves the bathroom, he detours towards the coffee stand, getting at the end of the short line. 

_Yeah you see how I got rid of whatshisface_ , Finn shoots back. 

Puck laughs and puts his phone away, ordering himself a small coffee and a medium for Finn. He looks around carefully as he goes back into the bookstore, in case Tim’s still lurking near one of the food court places. Puck makes it back to their place in line without incident, though, and exchanges the medium coffee for his stack of books. 

“Thanks,” Puck says. 

“I always thought that guy was kind of a tool,” Finn says, taking a sip of his coffee. 

“Oh yeah?” Puck asks, because it’s possible Finn means just as Tim relates to Puck, not in general. 

“Yeah, I never did like him,” Finn says. 

“He’s not bad looking,” Puck says with a shrug. “Something to do.” 

“You could do better, though.”

It’s another opening, and Puck sips at his coffee while he tries to decide how to respond. He doesn’t _see_ any other exes ready to interrupt, at least. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Finn says. 

That response isn’t much of an opening, though, and Puck isn’t sure if he should up the ante a little or let the moment slide. The likely explanation is that Finn doesn’t want to overcommit with anything he says, that he’s feeling out Puck’s response, but there’s a nagging voice in the back of his head that reminds him it _could_ be a very gentle way of letting Puck down. Total rejection in the middle of the bookstore line doesn’t sound like that much fun. 

Puck takes another drink of his coffee, stalling a little, and then the line moving makes the entire internal debate a moot point. There’s at least one of the guys from the frat visible in front of them in line now, and they’re about to be split into multiple lines by a bookstore employee. 

“Later,” Puck says under his breath, glancing out of the corner of his eye to see if Finn hears him or not. Finn seems to almost imperceptibly nod, but it could be a response to Puck, a barely-there greeting to someone from one of his classes, or just his head moving. Puck nods a little himself as they split into different lines to pay. Somehow, that ‘later’ felt more like an excuse he was trying to give himself than a promise to really pick it back up. 

 

By Friday morning, Puck’s body has more or less readjusted to waking up early, but he wrinkles his nose when he stretches and looks out the window. 

“Rain?” he says. “That’s gonna be gross.” 

“Aw, man, really? On top of the snow?” Finn complains. “It’s all going to be grey slush.”

“Yeah, and the parking lot at the agency is already half-gravel anyway, so that’ll be even more fun,” Puck says, climbing down from his bunk. 

“Yuck. At least the lot at the school is regular concrete.”

“What do you have to do today? More observations and paperwork?” Puck asks. He opens one of his drawers and stares at the contents, not really awake enough to pick out anything. 

“Yeah,” Finn says, standing up and starting to pull clothes off hangers. “I don’t get to do any lesson plans until a couple of weeks in. I think I get to do some grading this week, though.”

“Whereas I had an hour to fill out paperwork, an hour to get ‘oriented’, and now they’re just putting me in meetings with clients,” Puck says. “In theory, I’m being supervised.” 

“But you like it okay?”

“I wish I could _do_ more, you know?” Puck says. “You?”

“It’s okay. I’d like to work with the kids more directly,” Finn says. “They seem pretty cool.”

“Look at us,” Puck says with a laugh. “We got old. ‘Kids’.” 

“But they _are_ kids!” Finn protests. 

“That’s what I’m saying. _We_ got old. They really are kids,” Puck says. 

Finn starts buttoning up his shirt. “I’m not old. You’re old.”

“How does _that_ work?” Puck asks. “How can I be old and you not be?” 

“Maybe it’s like Mom used to say, about people having a lot of living in their years. Maybe you had more living in your years than me,” Finn says. “Like when you went to L.A., and I was still here. That probably counts for a couple extra years.”

Puck finally pulls fresh underwear and an undershirt out of his drawer and closes it, starting to get dressed as he stares at Finn. “You’re trying to tell me you think I’m like five years more mature than you or something?” 

“Yeah, probably,” Finn says. 

“How exactly do you figure that?” Puck pulls out a clean pair of jeans, because the supervising person at the agency had told him the first day that he was dressed a little too nicely for an intern. 

“You lived on your own, right?” Finn says. “And you supported yourself. I haven’t ever done that. I only ever lived at home and in the dorm.”

“For maybe six months, and it wasn’t exactly _good_ living,” Puck says. “I don’t think that’s a good enough case.”

“You’re motivated, though. You decide to do stuff, and you do it.”

Puck gestures at Finn, moving his hand up and down with one eyebrow raised. “Uh?” 

“What?” Finn asks. 

“How exactly are we any different on that?” 

Finn shrugs. “Come on. You know I wouldn’t have gotten this far without you.”

“Not even by now?” Puck glances outside again before picking out a shirt. 

“Hey, by now I’m so used to you being here, I’d probably forget to eat and go to bed and stuff without you,” Finn says. 

Puck pulls a sweater on over his shirt and swallows a little. “I know you’d forget to brush your teeth,” Puck says as jokingly as he can manage. “I think you’d remember to eat, though.” 

“Nah, I’d’ve starved to death by now,” Finn says. “I’d be a skeleton in a button-down.”

“Discipline’d be a snap with the kids,” Puck says, snapping his fingers. “They’d all be scared of the skeleton.” 

“I’d probably have a hard time getting to work, though. I don’t think they let skeletons have drivers licenses.”

Puck sighs dramatically. “I could probably drop you off.” 

“Not if you left me alone to turn into a skeleton,” Finn says. “I’d be all alone and I couldn’t even drive myself to work.”

“Oh my God, I’m not going to let you turn into a skeleton,” Puck says, then turns to his desk as he can feel his eyes widening a little. “Do you have time to hit the dining hall?” 

“Yeah, probably. I could eat.”

Puck shoves his textbook for his seminar into his bag, since that’s the last few hours of his day on Fridays, then turns around, hopefully not looking too weird. “Can’t let you turn into a skeleton, right?” 

“See? That’s what I’m talking about,” Finn says. “You’re only thing between me and starving to death. I was just going to get something from the vending machine at the school.”

Puck shakes his head and locks their door as they head to the dining hall. The number of people around them increases enough that Puck manages a half-smile. “What are you going to do in June?” 

Finn shrugs. “Get a job where they’ll hire me, I guess. What about you? You decide about the master’s thing for sure?”

“I figure I’ll send the applications in and then I can decide at the end of the semester, right?” Puck says. “I guess I could always text you some reminders.” 

“Yeah, I guess. Or you could go to grad school nearby,” Finn says. 

“Not tired of me yet?” Puck asks. He doesn’t know that he _could_ , not if it just meant another two years or more of the two of them not quite being together, not fully discussing what they could be, and each of them off-and-on dating other people. Puck feels like if he goes wherever Finn goes, or vice versa, locked in their closer-than-most-best-friends relationship but nothing more, that’s all it’ll ever be. He’s pretty sure he’s not willing to accept that, not yet. 

Finn laughs. “Are you kidding? I don’t know what I’d even do without you.”

“Don’t take me for granted,” Puck says almost jokingly as they get in line for what smells like sausage and French toast sticks. 

“Would I do that?” Finn asks, then he suddenly stops walking, catching Puck by the sleeve. “Wait. I _don’t_ do that, do I?”

Puck stops and turns to face Finn, shaking his head almost automatically. They do take each other for granted, but Puck knows that’s not exactly what Finn’s asking. Puck has a momentary realization of how out of place they probably look, standing in the middle of the dining hall dressed a lot more nicely than ninety-nine percent of the people there. He puts his hand over Finn’s, mostly because it’s an excuse to. 

“We’re good,” Puck says. 

Finn exhales, looking relieved. “Okay. Good.”

“You know what isn’t, though?” Puck says, sudden realization hitting him. 

“What?”

“We can’t get French toast sticks,” Puck says sadly. 

“What? Why?” Finn asks. 

Puck makes a face. “You _know_ we’d get syrup all over.” 

“Aw man,” Finn says. “Being a responsible adult _sucks_.”

“Yeah.” Puck sighs. “Maybe they’ll have leftovers tomorrow.” 

The two of them make it through breakfast without any kind of food incident, then both head off campus. Puck lets his mind wander a little as he drives. He and Finn have been able to _depend_ on each other for years, which isn’t the same as taking each other for granted. It doesn’t change that it’s an odd space to be in. Puck parks and dodges the puddles of grey slush in the parking lot as he heads in. He can give himself another month or so, or the whole semester. They really are basically working, plus sending in applications and taking their electives, so maybe Puck needs to worry less. Everything’s always worked out for them before, and there’s no reason to think that won’t be true again. It’s only January fifteenth; they have time.


	2. January, Part 2

Finn wakes up to a fresh blanket of snow on the ground, and he has a brief moment of childlike excitement about the possibility of school being canceled, because apparently that feeling doesn’t go away even when you’re the teacher. Unfortunately, his phone informs him that the roads have already been cleared, so he makes himself get up to get ready for his day. The room is empty, which means Puck is probably in the shower, so Finn pops a couple of Hot Pockets into the microwave so Puck’ll have a hot breakfast when he gets back to the room, and then gathers up his own shower supplies. 

He passes Puck on the way to the bathroom. “Hey, your Hot Pockets are in the microwave.”

“Cool,” Puck says. “Want me to start yours in about four minutes?” 

“Yeah, cool, thanks,” Finn says, then continues to the bathroom, where he has his shower—complete with shower singing, because he’s an adult and he can sing in the shower if he wants—and shaves. His Hot Pockets are ready when he gets back to the room. 

“Do you get any face time with the kids today?” Puck asks with his head almost stuck in a drawer. 

“That’s what they tell me, but I’ll believe it when I see it,” Finn says. “I’m starting to think I’m just there to grade papers and keep Jack and Priest from touching each other.” He takes a bite of his Hot Pocket, then adds, “Not in an inappropriate way. Just a grabby way.”

“Does it make you nostalgic?” Puck asks, grinning as he lifts his head out of the drawer. 

Finn laughs, because he hadn’t really thought about it, but Puck’s not wrong. “Kinda, yeah. Like us in Health.”

“Science.” 

“And history,” Finn adds. “Shit, we were kinda bad, weren’t we?”

“The very, very worst,” Puck says solemnly. “At least you have plenty of knowledge about what _doesn’t_ work in terms of discipline.” 

“Like, uh, anything? Anything at all?”

“That’s totally not true. I definitely listened to…” Puck trails off, frowning a little. “You.” 

“Because I’m a great teacher, right?” Finn prompts. 

“Yes. Because you’re a great teacher,” Puck says as he picks up a sweatshirt. “I don’t think I did anything predictive in high school, though.” 

“You were always a good listener,” Finn says. 

Puck cracks a grin. “Remember the night after Sectionals junior year? How you and I were still up talking and Mike almost tripped on us when he got up and had to piss?” 

“And he kept saying ‘you’re lucky I didn’t pee on you, I could have peed on you!’ and you started laughing,” Finn says. “And then I started laughing.”

“Laughing so hard you really did have to pee!” Puck says. “I swear Mike checked for us every time we had the guys sleeping over, after that.” 

“If we had him over to stay at the dorm, he’d probably check here, too.”

“And if neither of us is falling asleep on top of our work, he’d be right,” Puck says. “It was my turn last night.” 

“Yeah, but remember last semester? How many nights did you wake me up because I was drooling on my laptop?” Finn asks. 

“That waterproof keyboard cover I got you was the best birthday present ever, right?” Puck says. “You might’ve been asleep and drooling, but your computer kept working.” 

“And on that note, gotta go if I’m gonna make it before the bell!” Finn says. 

Puck laughs. “Oh, so now that’s an embarrassing memory?” 

“Drool. Super sexy,” Finn says, grabbing his bag. “See you for dinner?”

“I’ll wait if you’re running late.” 

“Thanks. I’ll text if I am, though.”

Puck smiles. “I know.” 

Finn is out the door and in his truck, halfway to the high school, before he realizes how much that conversation sounded like an old married couple conversation. Of course, he and Puck have known each other longer than any of the couples he knows have been together, and they’ve definitely had enough points where they _could_ have gotten together. Somehow it just never happened. First it was the army for Finn and L.A. for Puck, then it was both of them trying to adjust to the college thing, then Carole and Burt split up, and in the middle of all that mess, the could-have-gotten-together had stayed firmly in the ‘could have’ camp and never moved into the ‘got together’ camp. 

Sometimes he wonders if there was a window and they missed it. Probably that’s not really how the real world works, but now they’re right on the cusp of graduating, and Finn is actually staring his adult life in the face, and what’s he supposed to do with himself if he and Puck end up in two different cities? Maybe even two different states? If they’re going to get together, wouldn’t it need to happen _before_ they’re both out there in the adult world with jobs and responsibilities? At the same time, rushing it just to get it in under the wire wouldn’t be fair to either of them after all this time.

Ultimately, Finn decides he can’t figure this out by himself on the drive between the U of Lima campus and Shawnee High School anyway, so he may as well stop thinking about it for now. He finds a spot in the teacher’s lot and manages to avoid the slushy snow on his way in. 

 

Puck usually is pretty upbeat at dinner, especially when it’s Friday night, but instead of eating, he’s picking at his food and frowning a lot. He normally likes the meatloaf in the dining hall, so it’s not his choice of entree that’s bothering him. He sighs for the fourth or fifth time and stabs his slab of meatloaf without looking at it. 

“Did they forget the salt in the meatloaf?” Finn asks. 

“Huh?” Puck looks at Finn and shakes his head. “Sorry. We had this case—well, the case isn’t really it, but it made me think. Do you think people like us are doomed to relationship failure?” 

“Hmm.” Finn looks down at his own dinner. “I guess it depends on what you mean by ‘people like us’?”

“Like, my dad left, your dad died and then Carole made, let’s be honest, a series of mediocre to poor choices, that kind of ‘people like us’,” Puck says. “No relationship role modeling.” 

Finn sort of sigh-exhales loudly. “And I guess we haven’t really done so hot on the dating front, either, have we? I mean, it’s not like I can really say anything about my mom making mediocre choices.”

“Except you don’t have a kid. I mean, my mom never dated, but what made your mom decide to marry Burt, after all that dating different guys? What made him different enough to marry?” Puck says. 

“Kurt,” Finn says, not even having to stop to think about it. 

“You think she wanted another kid?” 

“I think Kurt took her shopping and made her feel pretty and got her all excited about being with Burt,” Finn says. “So I don’t know. Maybe she wanted another kid. Maybe she just wanted a kid that was more like her.” He shrugs. “Stuff was never really the same between me and her after the Quinn thing, you know?”

Puck nods, stabbing off an actual piece of meatloaf this time and chewing it. “Like you weren’t really her _kid_ any longer?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s a good way to put it,” Finn says. 

“Yeah. I know that one,” Puck says. He puts his fork down and squints a little. “I never really understood the timeline. You two were supposed to move in like two months after they started dating?” 

“I don’t know about supposed to. They had it all planned, though, and nobody even asked me about it,” Finn says. “Even with all the stuff that happened with me and Burt, it still wasn’t that long before they picked out the new place.”

Puck shakes his head. “It’s weird doing this internship. Like if suddenly you and your mom went back in time, and you came in and told me that? I’d be referring her to some parenting groups and that kind of thing. Because why would she plan something like that with her boyfriend but not tell her son?” 

“I don’t know. It all happened so fast, and everything got out of control, and just…” Finn shrugs. 

“I mean, you know, I wanted to be happy for her and all of that,” Puck says, “but it was a little weird that she started out the year not even dating anyone and finished it married. Usually it happens that fast going the other direction.” Puck crosses his index fingers in front of him back and forth with a ‘whoosh’ sound. 

“She seemed really happy, and it’s not like I had any say in it, so I just did the best I could do,” Finn says. “And it wasn’t the worst. It was even kinda fun to have a brother for a little while, even if he got weird about stuff a lot.”

“Is he still blaming you for the divorce?” Puck asks. 

“Not as much out loud, at least not to me or Mom, anyway. He’s definitely still blaming me for not helping conspire to get Mom and Burt back together.”

“I guess that’s progress?” Puck says, shaking his head. “Maybe we can learn from what we _don’t_ want to do, right?” 

“I don’t want to get together with someone I just met,” Finn says. “I know _that_ hasn’t worked out great for the Hudsons in general.”

“Going by that, I should avoid people who are bad at money management,” Puck says wryly. 

“And we both should probably stop going out with people we don’t really have anything in common with,” Finn says. 

“Hey, my parents had one thing in common,” Puck says with a laugh. “So maybe I should avoid temple even more than I already do.” 

Finn reaches across the table to lightly punch Puck on the arm. “You could’ve warned me about the temple curse _before_ Rachel!”

“I didn’t know it applied to people who weren’t already Jewish!” 

“Yeah, well, the more you know,” Finn says. “We’re like an after school special.”

“We’d be an awesome after school special.” Puck takes another bite of the meatloaf. “Maybe the thing is that it’s not supposed to be picture-perfect, and the more people try to make it that way, the more it blows up.” 

“Maybe so. I just know what I _don’t_ want,” Finn says. 

“You want your own kids or no?” 

Finn shrugs. “I _like_ kids, but I don’t have to have them to be happy, I don’t think. What about you?”

“I think… I think I like the idea of kids a lot more than I’d like the day to day,” Puck says. “I’m not sure I want to put other people ahead of me and whoever my partner is. You know?” 

“Yeah,” Finn says, nodding. “We both get a lot of kid in our day, anyway.” 

“Yeah. I know it sounds kind of selfish, but it’s better to be selfish without kids, right?” 

Finn continues nodding. “I think maybe it’s okay to be selfish,” he says. “I think maybe we’ve earned it, a little bit. We’ve kinda already put in our time taking care of people. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with just wanting to take care of ourselves.”

Puck smiles for the first time since the conversation started. “Selfish and the additional benefit of knowing we’re not perpetuating any negative cycles,” he says. “That’s something.” 

“That’s more than just something. That’s a _lot_ ,” Finn says. 

“Okay, but I still think I’ll tell my mom the ‘no kids’ thing over the phone or text,” Puck says. “What about you?” 

“Wasn’t gonna bring it up at all, and when I’m forty and still don’t have kids, I guess she’ll figure it out.”

Puck laughs. “You forget I know your mom. I give her two years, tops, after you tell her you’re engaged or moving in together or whatever.” 

“I’m awfully good at changing the subject,” Finn says. “I’m sure I can put her off.”

“Uh-huh. I want to see that.” 

“Oh, you’ll see it. You’ll see how good I am at changing the subject.”

“For eighteen years?” Puck says skeptically. “You’re not that good.” 

“Better than you think,” Finn says.

“I think if anyone knows how good or not you are, it’d be me,” Puck argues. 

Finn raises an eyebrow at Puck and does his best to look really suave. “Oh, there’s a lot about me you don’t know. I’m full of unsolved mysteries.”

Puck makes a face and shakes his head. “Bet you can’t come up with even three things I don’t know.” 

“How much you want to bet?” Finn asks. 

“Buffet dinner Sunday night.” 

Finn puts his hand across the table to shake Puck’s hand. “You’re on. Number one, where’s my most ticklish spot?”

“Back of your legs.”

“Nope,” Finn says. “I’d just start squealing as soon as you started tickling me, ’cause I knew mom would break it up. Ready for the next one?”

“You realize that means you’re going to get tickled this weekend, ’cause your mommy ain’t here,” Puck says with a grin. 

“I’ll arm myself.”

“I’ll hit when you least expect it,” Puck says. “Next?” 

“There’s a food I hate, but I eat it when people offer it to me because I’m polite,” Finn says. 

Puck grins. “I know that one, dumbass. Mac ‘n cheese.” 

Finn raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Okay, then I guess I have to come up with two more, instead of one more. How’d you know?”

“First of all, you’ve never once taken thirds of it in your life. Not even when you were fourteen. And you get this little thing,” Puck says, putting his index finger between his eyes and pointing down, “when you don’t like something.” 

“Then how is it that Mom never noticed?”

Puck shrugs. “I guess she never looks at your face while you’re eating.” 

“But _you_ look at my face while I’m eating,” Finn says. “Huh.”

“Yeah,” Puck says with another shrug. “C’mon, try and stump me again.” 

“I _know_ you don’t know the last one I was thinking of, but now I have to come up with a new third one, too,” Finn says.

“Yeah, yeah, you thought I didn’t know about the mac ’n’ cheese, too,” Puck says. 

“No, I know you don’t know it. Trust me.”

“Try me!” 

Finn feels himself blushing a little. “You know, maybe I’ll just try to come up with two new ones.”

“Come on,” Puck says as he grins, clearly in a much better mood than at the beginning of dinner.

“It’s a sex thing, so that already rules out you knowing it,” Finn says, blushing harder. 

“Uh-huh. I might guess it.” 

“I seriously doubt it.”

“You think _you_ have a sex thing that _I_ can’t guess?” Puck says. “Okay. Ask the question.” 

“No, nevermind, I’ll think of something else,” Finn says, shaking his head. He feels like his face might actually combust, it’s turning so red and hot.

“Ask,” Puck insists, his grin even wider. 

Finn shakes his head. “You know me so well? Guess.”

“Are you _doubting_ me?” Puck says, looking affronted. “Am I guessing what you like or what you hate, here?” 

“Either way. I’ve got some of both.”

Puck folds his hands and props his chin on them, studying Finn for a moment. “Chest and back. Yours, not theirs. Before the main event. And… I bet you _don’t_ like going down on your partner.” 

Finn snorts a laugh. “Guess you don’t know me as well as you thought.”

“Oh, well, sorry for not having a pussy,” Puck says with his own laugh. “Or watching you. Taping you. There’s something I’ve never done.” 

Now Finn really feels like his face is going to catch on fire. “Oh my god, Puck. I don’t even know what I’m suppose to say about that, except seriously, you don’t have any clue.”

“So I _should_ tape you?” Puck says. “Or are you going to let me in on this deep, dark secret of Finn Hudson?” 

“I thought you knew everything about me,” Finn says. “Just tell me one thing I like. Like, I don’t know. Position. I’ll give you the win.”

Puck chews on his lip, looking affronted again. “I’d make another bet you’re not a huge fan of hands and knees, so not that. Face to face, but…” He trails off, still studying Finn. “Not missionary, though. You wouldn’t like that.” 

Finn is starting to realize what a bad plan it was to have this conversation in the dining hall, and hopes nothing happens that makes him have to stand up quickly or anything. “Okay, so that’s what you think I _don’t_ like,” he says.

“Process of elimination is important,” Puck says, and now he’s grinning at Finn again. “Using my imagination and all.” 

“We don’t have to talk about it anymore,” Finn says quickly.

“Not having fun?” Puck asks with a slight pout.

Finn shakes his head slightly. “Well, we’re in the middle of the dining hall, so it’s kinda more about have too—”

“Finn! Hey!” an almost-thrilled voice says from Finn’s right. “I’ve barely seen you on campus all semester! I was telling Miranda a few days ago that I hoped you hadn’t transferred or anything.” 

Finn doesn’t know for sure what his face is doing, but he can tell it’s not good. “Oh, hey, Keri. Uh.” He looks at Puck, then up at Keri. “How have you been?”

“Oh, I’m good. Ready to be done with school and get out in the real world, you know?” Keri says. “I’m so glad I didn’t pick a major where I have to go to grad school.” 

“Yeah, right, right,” Finn says, nodding. 

“So did you have any plans tomorrow night?” Keri asks. 

“Oh. Yeah, I uh—” He looks at Puck again, because even if he isn’t sure about what’s going on between the two of them, he _is_ sure he’s not interested in going out with Keri again. “Yeah, sorry. I’ve got some stuff going on that I need to take care of.”

“Oh, too bad,” Keri says, making a face that’s probably supposed to be a pout. “Now that I know you’re still on campus, though, I’ll let you know about the next party at the house. I’ll see you around!” 

“Yeah, see you,” Finn says, waiting until Keri is out of sight before grimacing. 

“Not up for a Chi O party?” Puck says. 

“Not really. Like, _ever again_.”

“It’s not too late to change your number?” Puck offers almost blandly. “We should probably get out of here before they start charging us extra.” 

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Finn says. “I’ve got to get some lesson plans ready before Monday, anyway.”

“No rest for the weary,” Puck says as he stands up, staring off again like he was at the start of dinner. 

Finn sighs. “Yeah, I guess not.”

“All work and no play will make us dull boys,” Puck says, but he seems mostly unconcerned about that and a little bit distracted. 

“You alright?” Finn asks. 

Puck shakes himself a little. “Yeah,” he says, looking and sounding almost wistful. “I’m fine.” 

“Okay,” Finn says, though obviously it’s _not_ all okay. Puck equally obviously doesn’t want to talk about it, though, so Finn doesn’t push. He’s not sure if he owes Puck the buffet or not – Puck didn’t guess all of Finn’s things, but for some reason, Finn still feels like he probably should buy dinner for Puck anyway. He’ll bring it up again Sunday morning and try to get a feel for it at that point.

Despite Finn telling Keri he had plans, the only real plans he has for that night involve him and Puck catching up on _Agent Carter_ and eating popcorn. It’s a good thing that doesn’t involve any real conversation, as Puck hasn’t had much to say since the dining hall. Finn isn’t clear on exactly what happened with that, since first Puck was all sad, then he seemed cheerful, and then he was sad again. Finn’s even less clear about his own feelings, since he was simultaneously turned on by talking with Puck about that stuff—which actually wasn’t that surprising—and kind of hurt that Puck would think some of the stuff he said he thought.

When there’s a break as they switch between _Agent Carter_ and the most recent episode of _Arrow_ , Finn asks, “Do you _really_ think that about me?”

“Huh?” Puck says. 

“That thing you said. That you think I don’t like going down on my partner.”

Puck tilts his head a little quizzically, his mouth open for a few moments before he responds. “It’s not, you know, a value judgment. Some people don’t.” He shrugs. “But clearly you do.” 

“It sounded kinda like a value judgment,” Finn says. “It sounded like you maybe think I’m, like, selfish or self-involved or something.”

“It’s selfish?” Puck asks. “I mean, some people just don’t get into it.” 

“And you thought I was one of those people.”

“It’s not a bad thing! Or it’s not in my mind,” Puck says defensively. 

“Well, like I said, there’s obviously a lot of stuff you still don’t know about me,” Finn says. He’s mad, but he doesn’t know why, and he’s not really sure what to do with that information.

Puck glares at him. “Not knowing your… _oral preferences_ is a lot of stuff now?” 

“You were the one who was so sure you knew everything,” Finn says with a shrug. “I’m just saying you have some ideas about me that aren’t true. I just thought— you know what, I don’t know what I thought. It doesn’t matter. I don’t know why I expected you’d know. I’m the one who said you didn’t.”

“Yeah, and you’re the one making value judgments, too, so whatever,” Puck says grumpily, taking a handful of now-cold popcorn. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Finn says. 

Puck huffs. “Just start the episode.” 

“And you know what, you _still_ didn’t guess a single right thing about that,” Finn says, pressing the button on the remote to start the episode. 

“Fine,” Puck snaps. “I’ll buy you dinner. Happy?”

“Yeah. Totally. And for the record, I’m _all about_ going down on my partner,” Finn says. 

“Great. You’re a better person than me. Congratulations,” Puck says, still sounding snippy. 

“You know what, you can watch this episode by yourself. I’ll watch it on my laptop later,” Finn says, standing up and grabbing his shower stuff. He doesn’t bother to tell Puck where he’s going, since the fact he’s got his shower caddy should be obvious, and he doesn’t wait for Puck to respond, either. He’s still not sure why he’s mad or why Puck’s mad, but he’s not going to sit in the room and act like everything is fine when it obviously isn’t.


	3. February, Part 1

There are a lot of things about working— _interning_ , Puck mentally corrects himself—at Allen County Children Services agency that are surprising. There’s the small things, like the fact that normal lunch procedure is everyone at their desk or in the break room, except for Fridays. On Fridays, though, Puck is done at lunchtime, headed back to campus for the seminar class. There’s the bigger issue that after seven previous semesters of class and thinking he knew what he was doing, direct client interaction is draining and hard in a way he never expected. 

It’s only been three weeks, and Puck’s glad his grad school applications hadn’t been due until Sunday. Now it’s Wednesday, and for lunch, he’s taking himself up to the Kewpee for a hamburger and a malt. The secondary reason he’s going is to look back at where he ended up applying to grad school, because the sudden realization about maybe _not_ wanting to work with clients directly every day meant he’d needed to add a few programs. 

It means that some schools, and consequently the cities they’re in, are now less desirable, and others more desirable. The worst part, Puck realizes as he eats, is that now he actually has a top school, one that’s standing out over the others. He’d been trying not to have a favorite, because it meant more flexibility just in case he and Finn finally got their shit together, but now he has one. With a top school comes a top city, and now Puck’s worried about where, exactly, Finn’s applications are going out to. 

He’s still not sure he has the _right_ to worry about that, but he does anyway. It’s a month closer to the end of college, and he and Finn still haven’t had the conversation they _need_ to have. Fighting about oral sex for an entire night—and Puck’s still not sure how that happened—and then ignoring it happened afterwards definitely was not a step in the right direction. 

Still, the twin questions in his head of ‘where are either of us going?’ and ‘what exactly were we fighting about and why?’ are what’s on his mind when he and Finn get back to the dorm room after dinner, and he slumps in his desk chair for a few minutes before looking over at Finn in his. 

“When are _your_ applications due?” 

“Soon,” Finn says. “Way too soon.”

“Don’t you at least know where you’re sending them out to, though?” Puck asks. 

“Yeah, just across the state.”

“I ended up adding two more schools, and rewriting everything for the Cleveland State and Ohio State applications,” Puck says. “I didn’t take any of them off the table, but I guess it is good they require the internship in undergrad.” 

Finn nods. “Yeah, I still wanted to rework that one part of my University of Toledo application. It sounds clunky.”

“I kind of don’t like working directly with the families,” Puck admits. “It’s really sad.” 

“Yeah, I don’t blame you,” Finn says. “What are your options if you don’t want to do that part, though?”

“There’s some macro concentrations, so it’s more policy changes, community organization, and all of that. Don’t get me wrong, the direct client interaction is important and I’m glad people do it, but…” Puck trails off and shrugs. “You had to do a class on mandated reporting and referrals to the counselor as a teacher, right? Or some class talked about it?” 

“Yeah, I had to take a test thing to get a certificate that says I’m a mandated reporter,” Finn says. 

“Yeah, so, after the teacher or the counselor reports it, that’s the part where the social workers come in. And other people,” Puck says. “That’s _all_ of the clients. A good morning is focusing on stuff like food for a family.”

“Yeah, that’s rough,” Finn says. “I bet that would wear you down pretty fast.”

“You don’t think it’s a cop-out? Going the macro route?” Puck asks. 

Finn shakes his head. “They need people to do that stuff, too, and like I said, I think it would wear you down fast. I don’t want that for you.”

“But you like student teaching? It’s not wearing you down?” 

“Oh, it’s totally wearing me _out_ ,” Finn says, “but I like it. I like working with the kids. I think I’d like it more if I knew I was gonna get paid a little more for it, which is why the grad school thing.”

“Someone forgot to tell us how to pick _lucrative_ careers, anyway,” Puck says wryly. “At least we’re leaving undergrad without a ton of debt around our necks.” 

“Exactly,” Finn says. 

“Do you think it’s bad we’re not trying to leave Ohio, either of us?” Puck asks. “I mean, I sent the one application to Pittsburgh, but it’s close to Ohio, and that was more to placate the people in the social work department.” 

“I don’t know,” Finn says, shrugging. “I like Ohio.”

“Well, yeah, me too, obviously, but do you think it’s weird or bad or anything that we do?” 

“We’re not planning on staying in Lima, so that’s probably good enough,” Finn says. 

“Yeah, that’s true.” Puck opens up his laptop and puts in a few dates on his calendar, because he doesn’t want to start looking for decisions from grad schools before they’re possible. “You know what’s the weirdest thing about the internship?” 

“What?”

“There’s some of these cases and these clients, and a teacher or a club sponsor or whomever noticed something was going on, right? So now they’re getting help, and that’s good, but it’s made me realize there were times you or I or people we knew fell through the cracks. That someone probably should have referred our moms for some help or something.” 

“Yeah, it was pretty rough for both of them for a while there,” Finn says. “But you and me, we had each other at least.”

“Yeah.” Puck looks over at Finn and smiles. “And don’t think I’m not glad we did. But it makes me wonder how many other kids fall through, you know?” 

Finn nods. “Yeah, I think about that with the kids at my school. Like there’s got to be at least one going through some shit.”

“So I guess that’s one policy change that’d be nice, you know? Not have parents afraid to ask for help,” Puck says. 

“Yeah,” Finn says. 

Puck shrugs. “I know. Pie-in-the-sky dreaming and all of that.” 

“If anybody could make that happen, it’d be you.”

Puck smiles again. “Flatterer.” 

“Yeah, that’s me, a flatterer,” Finn says. 

“I’m just calling it like I see it. Student teacher, flatterer, Browns fan.” 

Finn snorts. “That’s me in a nutshell.”

“Add it to your résumé, like a tagline. It’s your new branding!”

“I’ll get it on t-shirts and shit,” Finn says. “Maybe I’ll buy one of those billboards on 75.”

Puck laughs. “Put me at the top of your distribution list. I’ll make a killing when you get elected to the state Board of Education and I have vintage branding.” 

“You’re making really big plans for me, considering I haven’t even graduated yet,” Finn says. 

“Pie-in-the-sky dreamer goes in my tagline. You have to come up with the rest of it.” 

 

Sunday night at the beginning of February means the Super Bowl, and Puck and Finn head over to the frat house about thirty minutes before kickoff. They load their plates up, mostly with wings and chips, with guacamole for Puck and salsa for Finn, and then head into the main room where the very large big screen is set up with the volume booming. It isn’t until they’re sitting down that Puck realizes one of the guys saw them come in and then moved, so there’d be two seats together. 

“We forgot to wager,” Puck says. “Quick, we have to figure one out.” 

“Panthers by two touchdowns,” Finn says. 

“No way that happens,” Puck says with a grin. “It’s going to be three touchdowns or more. Winner buys buffet?” 

“Loser buys beer.”

“Shit, we forgot to get beer before we sat down. What kind do you want tonight?” Puck asks.

“There’s some 10 Ton Oatmeal Stout,” Finn says. “Grab me one of those?”

“You and your stout. I was going to yell at an underclassman to get it so we don’t lose our seats,” Puck explains, then cups his hands over his mouth and does just that, requesting Finn’s 10 Ton Oatmeal Stout and Flyin’ Rye IPA for himself. 

“Good plan,” Finn says. “You’re a natural delegator.” 

“I’m good at asserting seniority, anyway,” Puck says, nodding at the guy who hands them not two but four beers. Puck opens two of them and hands one to Finn. Finn takes a swig and relaxes back in his seat.

“Want to put a wager on best commercial?” Finn asks. 

“Are there any left that haven’t leaked?” 

“You know I never watch them ahead of time!” Finn says. “That’s cheating!”

“You are the weirdest,” Puck says definitively. “No watching ads ahead of time, and you don’t like delicious, delicious guacamole, either.” He gets a big scoop of guacamole on one of his chips and waves it towards Finn. 

“It feels gross in my mouth! Why would I ruin perfectly good tortilla chips with that!” Finn says, swatting at Puck’s arm. 

“Because it’s deeelicious avocado,” Puck says, still holding the chip near Finn. 

“Noooo, it’s nasty green slime!” 

“Delicious avocado _with_ lime and onion.” 

“Nasty green grossness with lime and onion and grossness,” Finn says. “Don’t make me eat it!”

“Mmmm,” Puck says as he pops the chip in his mouth and chews it. After he finishes, he grins. “You’re missing out!”

“I’m strangely okay with that.”

“I’m going to convince you one day,” Puck says, shaking his head. “Even if I lose out, having to share the guacamole.” 

“You feel free to keep trying, and I’ll feel free to keep saying it’s gross,” Finn says. 

Puck laughs and picks up one of his wings, and the room is oddly quiet for a good ten or fifteen minutes as kickoff happens. At the end of the first quarter, with the Broncos already up by ten, Puck opens their second beers and hands Finn his. 

“Think I should get that guy to bring us more?” 

“Yeah, sounds good. Then we don’t have to think about it later.”

“Cool, yeah,” Puck says, and the next time the game is a little slow, he yells at the same underclassman to bring them two more each. They don’t open their third beers until near the end of the second quarter, but as halftime begins, Puck realizes he’s got his arm around Finn. By the time Coldplay, Beyonce, and Bruno Mars are finishing up, Finn’s leaning into Puck.

“We should drink our other beers,” Puck says, not completely sure which side of the buzzed or drunk divide that he’s on. 

“Yeah, okay,” Finn says, sounding relaxed and happy, despite the score. “Just no guacamole.”

“The guacamole’s gone,” Puck says. He leans forward awkwardly and grabs one beer, then the other, putting them in his lap. “Hold ’em for me and I’ll open ’em.” 

Finn reaches out to steady the beers in Puck’s lap. Puck grins, looking at Finn and not the beers, which is probably why it takes two tries of his hand landing on top of Finn’s hand and arm before he finds the top of the can to open. After that one’s open, it takes him another two tries to find the top of the other can. 

“There,” he says, maybe a little too proudly. 

“Good job!” Finn says, taking one of the beers from Puck’s lap.

“Awesome,” Puck says, and if he pulls Finn against him a little more snugly while he drinks that beer, Finn doesn’t seem to mind. The same underclassman brings them more beer during the second half without even being asked, and by the time there’s only twelve or so minutes left in the game, Puck knows he’s crossed over to drunk, especially since he lost track of how many beers they’ve had. 

“Hey, Finn?” 

“Mmhmm?”

“I love the Panthers.” 

“Yeah, me too,” Finn says, his head lolling on Puck’s shoulder. 

“I would totally let Cam Newton fuck me,” Puck adds.

“Yeah?” Finn asks, rolling his head to look up at Puck. “Probably me too.”

“Console each other about the Super Bowl in bed,” Puck says, nodding slowly. “Did you finish that beer?” He nods at the can in Finn’s hand, which he thinks is empty. 

“Yup.”

“Cool.” Since neither of them is going to spill any beer, Puck takes advantage of Finn looking up at him and tilts his head down enough to kiss Finn. Finn makes a slightly surprised noise, but doesn’t move away. 

Puck nods, even though he’s not exactly sure why, and kisses Finn a little harder. Finn brings his hand up to the side of Puck’s face while they keep kissing. Someone hoots, and Puck figures it’s one of the few Broncos fans there until what feels like an empty beer can hits his arm. He flips off the room in general and opens his mouth slightly, touching the tip of his tongue to Finn’s lips. 

Finn makes another little noise as his lips part. Puck slips his tongue into Finn’s mouth, opening his own mouth wider. There’s a small nagging voice in the back of his head that wants to scream something at him, but the rest of him just feels good, and Finn feels good, and Puck puts his other arm around Finn, too. Finn still has one hand on Puck’s face, but he puts his other hand on the back of Puck’s neck, kissing Puck like he’s starving for it. 

Puck shifts around so his back is against the side of the sofa near them, pulling Finn with him and tightening his arms around Finn. “Mmm, you taste good,” he says in Finn’s ear when the rest of the room laughs loudly at something. Finn laughs, too, with his lips on Puck’s neck.

“Not like guacamole,” Finn says. 

“Like beer and Finn.” 

“I have a taste?”

“Yeah.” Puck licks Finn’s ear. “Mmm, Finn. See?” 

Finn laughs again. “Yeah.” He kisses Puck’s neck, then trails his tongue down it. “Yeah, you do, too. It’s good.”

“I have a taste or I taste like Finn?” 

“You have a taste,” Finn says, licking Puck’s neck again. “But I’m making you taste like me.”

“Okay,” Puck says, then laughs. “That tickles.” 

“You like it,” Finn says. It’s a statement, not a question. 

Puck laughs again and nods before kissing Finn again, catching him with his mouth still slightly open. Finn laughs into the kiss, swiping his tongue over Puck’s lower lip before their mouths are pressed together. Puck leans his head back against the arm of the sofa, and he realizes he’s moving his hands slowly up and down Finn’s back. 

“Get a room!” somebody shouts at them. 

Finn lifts his head. “We have a room,” he says to Puck. 

“We’ll miss the rest of the game,” Puck says with a laugh that might be closer to a giggle. 

“We already know who’s gonna win.”

“Yeah, us.” 

“Come on. Let’s get a room,” Finn says. Puck nods, dropping his arms. Finn stands, taking Puck by the wrists and pulling him up to standing. Puck looks around the room, and whoever told them to get a room has apparently lost interest already, but it’s still a good idea. Puck leans against Finn. 

“Drunk leading the drunk,” Puck says. 

“Yeah, says you,” Finn replies. 

“I’m pretty sure I’m drunk,” Puck insists as they walk towards the front door of the frat. 

“I’m not drunk. I’m just… looser,” Finn says. “I’m looser, like when you take off a necktie.”

“What was the necktie?” 

Finn laughs, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Everything. Everything was the necktie.”

“I like that. Poetic,” Puck says. “Where’s our room, since you aren’t drunk?” 

“Uh, it’s…” Finn looks around, then points. “That way.”

“Awesome.” Puck puts his arm around Finn’s shoulders again. “We could make out a little right here first.” 

“We could make out a _lot_ right here.”

“That’s even better,” Puck agrees, turning fully towards Finn and kissing him hard. Finn backs Puck against the wall, bracing an arm by his head. Puck grins as they kiss, parting his lips under Finn’s. Finn’s tongue is in Puck’s mouth and his whole body pressing Puck to the wall in seconds. 

Puck puts his arms around Finn again, this time closer to Finn’s waist. Finn pins Puck even more firmly to the wall. Puck wiggles a little and presses back against Finn. Finn whines against Puck’s lips.

“Room,” Finn says. 

“Yeah, okay,” Puck says, nodding a little.

Finn backs away, taking Puck’s hand. “Yeah. C’mon.” Puck grins and lets Finn lead him toward their dorm room. He doesn’t register most of the walk back, but he does laugh when it takes them a few attempts to get their key in the door. 

“We got a room,” Puck says as soon as the door closes. 

“You got a bed?” Finn asks. 

“We have two beds.” 

“Yeah, but I want _your_ bed,” Finn says. “Me, you, your bed.”

“Yeah, okay,” Puck agrees. 

“Awesome,” Finn says, kicking off his shoes and pulling up Puck’s shirt simultaneously as they stumble towards Puck’s bed. Puck shakes one foot, getting that shoe off before they reach the bed, and he puts his hands under Finn’s shirt. “Yeah, off,” Finn says encouragingly, tossing Puck’s shirt to the floor. 

“Yeah, off is good,” Puck says, shaking his other foot as he tugs Finn’s shirt higher. Finn puts his arms up and wiggles out of his shirt. His hands start immediately running down Puck’s chest before his shirt even hits the floor. 

“God, you’re hot,” Finn says. “Have I told you that? I should’ve told you that.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re hot, too,” Puck says, licking Finn’s neck. “Like fire.” 

“Still like how I taste?”

“Better than guacamole,” Puck says. “So good.” 

“Your skin feels so good. It’s so, like, smooth and nice,” Finn says, sliding his hands around the skin of Puck’s waist to his back. 

“I didn’t shave it,” Puck says. He kisses Finn’s neck repeatedly. “Still good.” 

“Yeah, why would you shave it? That’s funny,” Finn says. “You’re funny.” His hands travel down to Puck’s ass and grab it. “And hot.”

“Yeah?” Puck rolls his hips forward and then back into Finn’s grip. “We should lie down.” 

“Yeah,” Finn agrees, pulling Puck down onto the bed with him. Puck groans a little when his dick hits Finn’s side, and he suddenly realizes he’s definitely hard and probably has been for longer than he realized. 

“Yeah, that’s better,” Puck says. 

Finn grabs Puck’s ass again. “God,” he says, rolling his hips. “You’re so hard.”

“Yeah, I am,” Puck says, rolling his hips against Finn. “Are you?”

Finn lifts his hips off the bed, pressing his dick against Puck. “Am I?”

“Oh yeah. You’re like, as hard as me.” 

“Yeah, we both are, so you want to get our pants off or what?” Finn asks. 

Puck reaches for Finn’s jeans and starts unfastening them, sliding one hand inside as soon as the zipper is down. Puck presses his palm against Finn’s dick, through Finn’s boxerbriefs, and moves it up and down a little. Finn groans, bucking his hips. Puck grins and moves his hand again, licking the middle of Finn’s chest. 

“You feel so good,” Puck says. “Hot and hard.” 

“Yeah. Fuck, take your jeans off, Puck,” Finn says, trying to tug on Puck’s waistband. Puck lifts himself up off the bed enough to unzip his jeans, then unbutton them and slide jeans and underwear down at the same time. He kicks them the rest of the way off, then drops back down, pressing his dick against Finn. 

“I’m so hard,” Puck says, almost whining. Finn nods and shoves one hand between them, palming Puck’s dick.

“Yeah. Yeah, I feel you,” Finn says, his hand warm and still on Puck. “I wanted to for so long.” 

“Yeah,” Puck says, more softly than before. “Yeah. Me too. Me too.” He kisses the side of Finn’s neck and then his lips. Finn puts his free hand on the side of Puck’s face, running his thumb over Puck’s cheek. Puck leans into the touch, still kissing Finn. After a few moments, Finn breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against Puck’s.

“Shit,” Finn says quietly.

“What is it?” Puck asks. 

“You’re gonna want to kill me.”

“I wouldn’t ever want to _kill_ you.” 

Finn’s hand moves away from Puck’s dick, resting on his hip instead. “You might, a little,” Finn says. “I don’t think we can do this.”

Puck frowns, trying to figure out what Finn’s saying. “Because we’re drunk,” he finally says. 

Finn nods. “And this is too important. You and me, that’s too important, for it to happen like this.”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Puck says, kissing Finn’s cheek. “It was a good party, though.” 

“Yeah,” Finn says. “And you really are so fucking hot, and I want to do this _so_ much.”

“God, yeah,” Puck says. He takes a few deep breaths, because they’re still both naked and lying down in the same bed. “It wouldn’t be the worst ‘last party’, you know?” 

“Before we have to go be grownups?” 

Puck nods. “Yeah. We’re almost there anyway. Want to see if Cam and the Panthers were able to pull it out?” 

“Yeah,” Finn says. He sits up, looking down at the floor. “Underwear?”

“Yeah, probably so,” Puck says, rolling into a sitting position. 

Finn reaches to the floor and comes back up with both pairs of their underwear. Neither of them looks in the other’s direction or attempts eye contact as they pull their underwear back on, and Puck still doesn’t quite look fully at Finn as he reaches for the remote and flips the television on. The two of them settle back on the bed, Finn’s arm around Puck, and they watch the final minute of the game tick down before orange confetti shoots out of cannons and over the field. 

“I feel bad for Cam,” Puck says. 

“He deserved better,” Finn says. “At least Peyton’ll probably retire now.”

“I’m tired now,” Puck admits. 

“Yeah,” Finn says, shifting a little so Puck’s head is resting on Finn’s chest. Puck closes his eyes, meaning to open them again when the post-game press conferences start, but when he hears Cam’s voice, he’s too comfortable to do anything but listen. 

When Puck does open his eyes again, his alarm on his phone is going off, he’s tucked into his bed, and there’s a bottle of water next to his head, not Finn. Finn is asleep in his bed, and even through the pounding headache, Puck knows that Finn was right the night before – it’s too important.


	4. February, Part 2

They don’t talk about the night of the Super Bowl in the same way they didn’t talk about the weird fight about oral sex, like neither of them are really ready to deal with it one-hundred-percent and lay it all out there, so they’d rather not deal with any small part of it until then. Finn thinks that’s probably a fair enough way to approach it. Putting it off _has_ to be better than talking about it too early and screwing it up somehow. He hadn’t been wrong that night: the thing between the two of them _is_ too important to treat lightly. 

Things pick up as they move into the second half of February anyway. February is always kind of a gross month weather-wise, grey and slushy and miserable. Finn’s mentor-teacher starts putting him in charge of actual lessons, so Finn has lesson plans to work on and even more papers to grade. Puck sees an uptick in his work volume, too, but that’s a lot more depressing, so they don’t talk about it as much. They also have less time in each other’s actual physical presences, which means less time to talk, which means what little time they do have to spend together definitely isn’t going to be the time either one of them is going to try to initiate a great big capital-T Talk. 

When Finn talked to Carole on Valentine’s Day, she had sounded sort of down, so he decided he would make more of a point of seeing her regularly. The following Saturday, February 20th, Finn picks her up for lunch at Vivace Cuisine, the Mediterranean place she’d been saying for months she wanted to try. It’s a little on the pricy side for Finn, with his income level of “what’s leftover from student loans,” but she deserves to go somewhere nice, so he can scrape by on poptarts and his partial meal plan for a couple of weeks. 

He concedes to himself that he should have checked the menu a little better, because smoked salmon pizza and falafel pockets aren’t really his type of food, but Carole seems happier at least. She talks for a while about work while they eat their tempura mushroom appetizer, and Finn just listens to her, nodding occasionally when she pauses for feedback. After she catches him up on everybody’s marriages and illnesses and kids, she sort of peters out, sighing a little.

“Well, that’s really all that’s been happening with me,” she says. “So, what’s new with you? How’s student teaching going?”

“I like it, mostly,” Finn says. 

“Why only mostly?” Carole asks.

“I’d like it better if I was getting paid.”

Carole laughs. “That makes sense.”

The waiter comes to clear their appetizer plates and take their lunch orders—the smoked salmon pizza for Carole, corned beef on ciabatta for Finn—so Finn has a chance to collect his thoughts a little. Once the waiter leaves, Finn takes a sip of water, then leans forward a little, speaking with a lowered voice.

“Can I ask you a question about Dad?” Finn asks.

Carole immediately frowns, though she tries to hide it by dabbing her lips with a napkin. “What about? Our conversations about him don’t usually go so well.”

“It’s not about any of that stuff,” Finn says, shaking his head. “It’s more about when you first met him. What was it about him that made you want to be with him?”

“Oh, Finn,” Carole sighs, putting her napkin back in her lap. “We were very young, and he was a much different person then than he was in the end.”

“Yeah, I get that. I guess I’m just wondering how you knew, you know? Like what about him made you think, oh yeah, this is the guy I want to get married to and have a baby with?” Finn asks.

“I don’t think it was any one thing, really. It just felt right. He was easy to love,” Carole says. 

“But you can love somebody and still have marrying them be a bad idea,” Finn says.

“Says the man who almost married his high school sweetheart while they were still _in_ high school,” Carole says. 

“Well, yeah, exactly!” Finn says. “I thought it was a good idea at the time, but obviously it wasn’t. _Not_ marrying somebody seems like it’s a lot easier to decide on than actually going through with it.”

Carole smiles and shakes her head. “We were a little older than the two of you.”

“Not by that much, though,” Finn says.

“By enough,” Carole says. “I loved him. I loved being with him. I couldn’t imagine spending my life without him.” She pauses to take a sip of her own water. “I was able to figure that out, obviously.”

“But you could tell. You knew Dad was who you were supposed to be with,” Finn says. “Did you ever doubt it or anything?”

“I should probably say yes, because that probably would sound a little wiser and more mature.”

“You should say whatever’s true, Mom.”

Carole shakes her head. “I never did. I wondered _how_ we’d make it work, sometimes, but I never wondered if we should try.”

“Was it different with Burt?” Finn asks. “You seemed like you were sure about him, but that didn’t work out.”

“Oh, Finn. It was a different situation. We were both so much older. We had been alone for a long time. We had both lost our first spouses. We both had children who were almost grown,” Carole says. “I think we mistook those shared life experiences as having more in common than we actually did.”

“How do you tell, though? Like, what’s the difference between having shared experiences and really having stuff in common?” Finn asks.

“Part of it is how you _feel_ about those life experiences. Burt and I felt differently about our previous marriages, and while, yes, we’d both lost our spouses, the circumstances weren’t the same. I was still _angry_ with your father. Burt was just sad.”

“But what about the positive stuff? Like the parenting thing, you both had that.”

“Well, yes and no,” Carole says. “We both had sons the same age, but I think we approached you very differently. I’m not saying either way was the right way, but I know Burt sometimes seemed to feel I wasn’t doing enough for you or pushing you enough, and I sometimes felt he was too protective of Kurt and gave him more help than he really needed or was good for him.”

“Did you fight about us?” Finn asks.

“Fight?” Carole repeats. “No. Maybe we should have. Maybe if we’d hashed things out more, we could have made it work. Instead, I think it was a lot more silently judging and not enough talking about it.” She smiles, a thin and somewhat sad smile. “I think we were too afraid to rock that boat.”

“Is that why you guys broke up?” 

“I think we were on borrowed time from the beginning,” Carole says. “I was tired of being lonely, and I let myself get caught up in this dream of how things should be. I was looking at an idealized version of the life I wished we could have, instead of looking at the ways the life we already had was working.”

“And you kind of let Kurt talk you into it,” Finn says.

Carole laughs. “Well, yes. He was very persuasive.”

“So what’s the difference between how you felt with Dad and how you felt with Burt?” Finn asks. “How do you tell if it’s real or if you’re just going along with something that sounds nice.”

Before Carole can answer, the waiter brings the food. Once everything is arranged in front of them, though, and the waiter leaves, Carole says, “If it’s real, you can feel it.”

“But I thought it was real with Rachel,” Finn points out. 

“Did you?” Carole asks. “If you’d really thought it was real, would you have let the two of you rush like that? Would you have sent Rachel to New York without you?”

“I was letting go. It was loving,” Finn says.

“It was,” Carole agrees, “but you could have gone with her. You could have worked or applied to other schools. You didn’t. You went through with that army business and both of you moved on.”

“So if it was real, I wouldn’t have?” Finn asks. 

“I think that if it were real, you would have looked back a little more,” Carole says. “But Rachel isn’t really what you’re asking me about, is she?”

Finn shakes his head. “It’s complicated, though,” he says. “I’m afraid to say it out loud.”

“Do you think you’re going to jinx it?” Carole asks. 

Finn shrugs. “Maybe a little.”

“Finn, you’re twenty-two years old!” Carole says, looking amused.

“So! I just worry about this stuff!” Finn says.

“Okay. Is anybody in your life trying to rush it or force it? Including… _this person_?” Carole asks.

“No,” Finn says, shaking his head. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

“When you’re with them, how do you feel?” Carole asks.

“Good. I feel good. Happy.”

“When you think about the future, do you see them there?”

Finn nods. “Yeah. Always.”

“Now imagine something bad happening. Something terrible,” Carole says. “The worst thing you can think of. Is this person the one you would want beside you when that happened?”

Finn nods again, smiling now. “Yeah.”

“Then that’s how you know,” Carole says. “If it’s something that’s coming from you, not from other people, and this person is the one you’d want to weather the storm with, then you know.”

“What do I do about it, then?” Finn asks. “How do I move it forward without messing it up?”

“The right opportunity will present itself, and when it does, you can make it happen,” Carole says. 

Finn smiles at Carole again. “Thanks, Mom.”

“You’re welcome,” Carole says. “Now eat your sandwich.”

 

Working—file write-ups in Puck’s case, grading papers in Finn’s—during a particularly dreary late February day is easier when they force themselves out of the dorm and into the student center with hot drinks and a couple of chocolate chip muffins. Finn doesn’t pay too much attention to how they eat the muffins, since it’s not out of the ordinary for the two of them, but he does realize that some people might think it’s strange that despite them having two muffins, they don’t each eat one. They both pick at the first muffin until it’s gone before starting on the second one. It’s actually one of the coziest parts of the day, as far as Finn’s concerned.

“Do you have a highlighter?” Finn asks Puck. 

“I have every color of highlighter you could ever want. Orange? Pink? Green? Lavender?” Puck offers. 

“Yellow?”

“Traditionalist!” Puck says, tossing a yellow highlighter into Finn’s lap. 

“This kid keeps making the same mistake through this whole essay,” Finn explains, opening the highlighter and starting to mark all the they’re/their mistakes in the paper. 

“So he’s the traditionalist?” Puck asks. 

“Your face is the traditionalist.”

Puck shakes his head. “I don’t think I look good in yellow. Orange, sure.” 

“Yeah, I think you look just fine in yellow,” Finn says, marking the last ‘their’ and handing the highlighter back to Puck. 

“Maybe trim on a Cavs t-shirt or something, sure, but otherwise, I don’t know,” Puck says. 

“I’ll get you a nice yellow polo shirt to wear to work, just to prove it,” Finn says. 

Puck fake-shudders. “No thanks. Unless I end up somehow interning _for_ the Cavaliers, I’m probably okay.” 

“Yellow pajamas.”

“Dude.” Puck looks almost pained. “Why?” 

“Yellow rain poncho,” Finn says. “Little yellow ducky boots to go with it.”

“So Cleveland’s your new favorite city?” Puck asks. “They don’t make ducky boots in my size.” 

“See, I bet they do,” Finn says. 

“Was that a yes or a no on Cleveland?” 

Finn tries to shrug in a way that seems non-committal. “You liked Cleveland, I thought.”

“I don’t dislike it,” Puck says. “I just wondered if, you know, it was your _favorite_ now.” 

“It’s not my _least_ favorite or anything,” Finn says. “Like, it’s a good city.”

“So what’s your favorite city? I mean, like… in Ohio, I guess.” 

“I could be happy in a lot of different cities.”

“That’s not very specific,” Puck says, looking almost put out. 

“Well, what’s _your_ favorite?” Finn asks. “I like Cleveland. I said I liked it.”

“I like a lot of cities in Ohio! Right now all I know is Lima’s probably not going to be my favorite, long-term.” 

“Same,” Finn says. “I definitely wouldn’t want to stay here longer than I had to.”

“What about Columbus? What do you think about Columbus?” 

“It’s not _bad_ or anything. I could definitely see living in Columbus for the right reasons.”

“Right reasons? Like a job?” Puck asks. 

Finn does a half-shrug, half-nod combo. “Yeah, or other stuff. People, you know?”

“Yeah.” Puck frowns a little. “Multiple people?” 

“Or the right person.”

Puck nods slowly. “Toledo, too?” 

“With the right person. Right reasons,” Finn says. “You?”

“I think there’s a few places like that for me. You know? Right person, right reasons, decent place.” 

“Yeah, exactly!” Finn says. 

“I just don’t figure I need to leave Ohio, probably, though,” Puck says. “Which is a little weird, since I would have paid a lot to leave Ohio at one point.” 

“Some people need to get out of the state. We’re just not them,” Finn says. “And that’s okay, I think. I mean, I’m going to be licensed here, you’re going to be licensed here. Why go somewhere else if we’re both licensed here?”

“Yeah. And if we want something different, we can always travel or something. Right?” 

“Exactly! The point is to be someplace where we’re happy, and where we can do our jobs, and where we’re with the right person.”

Puck nods. “Maybe it’s a little, you know… simple? Compared to what we’re all ‘supposed’ to want?” 

Finn shrugs. “I don’t think what we’re supposed to want matters. I think we’ve both been supposed to want a lot of stuff, and none of it made us happy.”

Puck doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, just nods again and stares off, then down at the files he’s working on. “Sometimes I feel almost as sad for the people who keep running and looking for something as I do these kids, you know?” 

Finn nods slightly. “Yeah. I get that.”

“Still, be nice to go a week without someone commenting on the fact that I don’t still have a mohawk,” Puck says with a little grin. 

“Yeah,” Finn says, laughing. “I like you without it, though. You look like a grown-up, but in a good way, you know?”

“You’re almost as old as me!” Puck says, his grin getting wider. “You might not want me looking too old.” 

“I wouldn't mind seeing you get old,” Finn says.

Puck’s grin freezes for a split second, then he shakes his head, seemingly relaxing. “You’ve already seen me bald. Though, what, maternal grandfather is supposed to predict baldness or not, right? So I guess I won’t go bald even when I get old.” 

“You look pretty good bald, but you’re lucky you get a choice,” Finn says. “I don’t know if my grandfather would’ve gone all the way bald or not.”

“I can check your hairline and the back of your head for you every month or two,” Puck suggests, clearly struggling not to laugh. 

“Yeah, that would help,” Finn says.

“The question then is, do you want me to _tell_ you if I notice any changes?” 

Finn taps his pen against the paper he’s grading. “Hmm. Only if it looks bad and I need to change my haircut,” he finally says, in what he hopes is a decisive-sounding manner.

“You could just let me be in charge of your haircuts, and you’d never know if you needed to change it or I was just bored,” Puck says. “Probably if you ended up with any shapes shaved in, you’d know I was bored.” 

“Yeah, I’m not sure I’m allowed to have shapes shaved into my hair if I’m teaching.”

“Only if they’re educational,” Puck says definitively. “Nothing pop culture.” 

“So, like, Declaration of Independence?” Finn asks. 

“That probably won’t fit. Go with the Pledge of Allegiance or some important dates.” 

“Too bad I’m not a math teacher,” Finn says. “You could put formulas in there. It would help the kids. They’d be all, ‘hey, Mr. Hudson, look over there!’ so they could look at the back of my head.”

Puck starts snickering. “Yeah, that’s the only reason it’s a real shame you’re not a math teacher,” he says. 

“Hey! I could be a great math teacher!”

Puck laughs harder, shaking his head. “No, dude, you really couldn’t,” he says. 

“Oh yeah? Name three reasons why I can’t be a great math teacher,” Finn says. 

“You don’t know the quadratic formula, you haven’t taken any math classes in at least two years, and the last math classes you took were one thousand level,” Puck rattles off. 

Finn does his best to keep himself from smiling, and more or less succeeds. “Okay, name _five_ reasons.”

“You don’t know how to construct a proof, and I’m pretty sure you don’t remember what a unit circle is,” Puck adds, then winks as he continues. “That’s a total of five, in case you forgot how to add.”

“I can add,” Finn fake-grumbles, starting to mark up the paper in front of him again. 

“And subtract from one hundred?” 

“Gonna subtract _you_.”

“Yeah? Subtract me from what?” Puck says, his grin wide again. 

“The universe,” Finn says. “Everybody’s going to say, ‘hey, where’s Puck?’ And I’m going to say ‘Puck who?’ and look really confused.”

“No, you’d be sad, and by the time the third or fourth person asked, you’d burst into big, sloppy tears.” 

“ _Pfft._ As if!”

“Big fat cartoon-worthy tears,” Puck insists. 

“While I’m pushing our bunks together side-by-side to make a king-sized bed,” Finn says. “And stretching out really far when I sleep.” 

“The guilt will consume you, and you’ll end up curled in a ball,” Puck says, pulling his legs up like he’s demonstrating Finn’s balled-up position. 

Finn waves him away. “Just the guilt of not subtracting you sooner. Think how much more space I’d have! Plus, I can use the rest of your credit on your meal plan.”

“Twice the dining hall food, twice the amount of time in the bathroom. _That_ thought will keep me content after being subtracted.”

“Ew.”

Puck looks smug and shrugs. “See?” 

Finn suddenly feels a strange, nearly overwhelming panic in his chest, coming entirely out of nowhere. “Hey, but seriously, I don’t know how to live in a world without you in it, so never go anywhere, okay?” he says to Puck, reaching over and putting his hand on top of Puck’s on the table. 

“Where would I go?” Puck says, smiling a little. “We never get very far away from each other. Like bungee cords.” 

“Dude, you went to _California_!” Finn says. His hand still has Puck’s hand pinned to the table. 

“And am I still there?” Puck asks. “Anyway, when I left, you weren’t here either.” 

“But I maybe wouldn’t have left if you weren’t leaving,” Finn says, looking down now, so he doesn’t have to make eye contact with Puck. “If you weren’t going, you could maybe have talked me out of it.”

“That’s not how it happened,” Puck says, sounding almost angry. “I tried to get you to come with me, and you turned me down. Don’t blame me for that.” 

“You didn’t try to get me to _stay_. I might have stayed. You could’ve stayed.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it. Neither one of us would have been happy with now if we hadn’t tried to leave. Stop trying to make your decisions something that’s my fault,” Puck says, and now he does sound angry. 

“I’m _not_!” Finn says, even though he knows he is, a little bit. “I’m just saying there wasn’t any reason _not_ to go.”

“Yeah, you are, and you were all wrapped up in whatever Rachel wanted then, anyway.” 

“No I wasn’t! _I’m_ the one that sent her to New York. _I’m_ the one that made her leave!”

“Oh, excuse me,” Puck says sarcastically. “You make perfect decisions and the rest of us impede your ability to do so.” 

“That isn’t what I’m saying,” Finn insists. He realizes his hand is still on top of Puck’s on the table, and that neither of them has tried to move their hands. “Have I ever acted like I thought I was perfect?”

“No, you just want to tell me how things are my fault, and change what really happened four years ago. Revisionist history, I guess.” 

“That isn’t— I was just saying that you said you’d never go anywhere, but you _did_ go somewhere. That was all.”

“And I _said_ that we seem to snap back together, but apparently you ignored that part.” 

“I just don’t want you to go away!” Finn says, then realizes he didn’t so much _say_ it as _yell_ it.

“Oh my God, I’m not going anywhere!” 

“But what if you _do_?”

“Maybe you’ll follow me.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Maybe you should have last time,” Puck grumbles half-heartedly.

“Yeah, well, maybe I should have,” Finn says. “Maybe I’m still pissed at myself for not doing it.”

“Then don’t get mad at _me_ for you not,” Puck says. 

Finn lets out a long, loud breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I know,” he says, curling his fingers around Puck’s hand where they both still rest on the table. 

“Hey,” Puck says softly.

Finn looks up at Puck, whose eyes and smile seem to promise that Puck isn’t mad at him anymore. “Yeah?” Finn says. 

“We’ll figure it out, okay? Not in the middle of the student center, but we will.”

Finn nods. “Yeah,” he says. “But soon, maybe?”

Puck looks a little rueful as he nods. “Yeah. Soon.” 

“But we have to finish our work right now, don’t we?” Finn asks. 

“Like the very responsible adults we are.”


	5. March, Part 1

A more useful seminar than the one Puck’s required to take would have been one about how doing the internship means none of them feel like college students anymore, but they don’t feel like adults yet, either. Included in that same seminar would have been, Puck thinks, something about how getting drunk and then going into work made him feel hypocritical, and that even though there wasn’t really a reason for him to feel that way, he’d still held himself to no more than two drinks on any given day since then. He’s not sure if Finn’s noticed or just assumed that Puck didn’t want the headache or the rest of the hangover, and Finn wouldn’t be wrong about the hangover, but Puck sees enough of what alcohol abuse can do. 

That, and Finn had been completely right about the two of them, and they really didn’t need another drunken makeout session before they sat down and figured things out. A large part of Puck feels like he _can’t_ do the talking part yet, not until they start getting notifications from grad schools and not until there’s some kind of sign that practically hits Puck over the head with its obviousness. None of the grad schools are sending out notifications in early March, though, and everything at the internship is in a routine, and there’s nothing pressing for Puck’s two classes, which is why when Finn has lesson plans to work on, Puck texts Jake to see if he wants to grab some dinner, since he’s in town for his spring break. 

The two of them agree on the Chinese buffet place, and as Puck pulls on his jacket, he has to stop himself from leaning over to kiss Finn when he tells him he’s heading out. He coughs instead and pretends like he’s adjusting his sock in his boot. 

“I’ll be back in a few hours, so you’d better finish,” Puck says. “Otherwise, no TV tonight.” 

“Yes sir,” Finn says, the corner of his mouth twitching like it does when he’s playing serious, but really wants to grin. 

Puck slaps Finn’s shoulder twice and then leaves before he derails Finn’s lesson plans and his own dinner plans in one fell swoop. He beats Jake to the buffet and gets almost through the line once before he sees Jake walk in, which means he’s ready to start interrogating his little brother by the time Jake sits down. 

“So how’s Tallahassee?” Puck asks immediately. 

“Warmer than here,” Jake says. “How’s your shit? You ever get it together?”

“Hey!” Puck says. “My shit’s together, mostly.” 

“I think we both know which shit I’m talking about, bro,” Jake says. 

“Like I said, my shit’s together, mostly,” Puck says with a shrug. “Maybe with the emphasis on the mostly.” 

“You still like the job?” 

“It’s hard, but yeah. A little staggering at times, when I think about how small Allen County is and how many people still come through the door, you know?” Puck says. 

“Why do you think I got out of here as fast as humanly possible?” Jake asks, shaking his head. 

“Oh, that part isn’t any different, no matter where you go,” Puck says. “ _That’s_ the sad part. You like your program, though?” 

“Yeah. I mean, dancing’s paying for me to go to school,” Jake says, “or the school’s paying me to dance. Either way, hard to beat.”

“And do you have any shit to get together?” 

Jake smiles smugly. “My shit’s pretty together.”

“Oh, that sounds like a story,” Puck says. “Share.” 

“Her name is Mila, she’s in the same program, one year ahead of me,” Jake says. “You want to see a picture?”

“I think you’d show me anyway, but sure,” Puck says with a laugh. “Show me a picture.” 

Jake unlocks his phone and scrolls through to a picture of a tall, pretty girl with slightly darker skin than Jake and long, curly hair. “She’s gorgeous, right?” Jake says. 

“Somebody’s got it bad,” Puck sing-songs. “No, she’s pretty, you’re right. Pretty serious or just fun for now?” 

“Well, her parents are flying in from Cuba to meet me this summer, so yeah, pretty serious,” Jake says. 

“Nervous?” Puck asks. 

“Oh, hell yeah,” Jake says. “Wouldn’t you be?”

“Probably?” Puck shrugs. “Totally different situation, bro.” 

Jake laughs as he tucks his phone away in his pocket. “Yeah, I guess it would be. No meet-the-parents drama there, huh?”

“More like forget-that-week-we-were-eight-please drama, if anything.” 

“Oh man,” Jake says, laughing harder. “You’ve got _baggage_.”

“Sure, laugh at your brother, I see how it is,” Puck says. “No sympathy.” 

“If I’m sympathetic, you’ll let me be your best man, right?”

Puck snorts. “I think they frown on people playing multiple roles in the same wedding, so that’d leave you, yep.” 

“In which case, it doesn’t really matter if I’m sympathetic or not, because what other option do you have?” Jake says. 

“Well, we _do_ need a ringbearer, probably,” Puck says with a straight face.

“For the record, I am _not_ wearing a tuxedo with shorts.”

“Suspenders and knee-highs for my baby bro,” Puck says. “It’ll be adorable. Your mom will love it.” 

“You are not my family. You are a stranger,” Jake says, shaking his head. 

“Aww, you’re too old to claim stranger danger.” Puck grins widely. 

“I’m just saying that if you had a van, I wouldn’t get in it.”

Puck snorts. “Neither would I.”

 

After that, Puck notices that it’s not the only time he’s tempted to lean in or otherwise initiate something beyond their current level of normal touch, but he also thinks that he might not be the only one who does that. It reminds him that they let the weird argument about sex and oral sex drop. It reminds him that they work together on every level they’ve actually tried, but it also reminds him that there are still things they haven’t tried. They fit together in terms of living together, in terms of what they eat, in terms of how they spend their free time, and even in terms of the work they want to do. There will never really be a time that either of them isn’t bringing work home, so Puck knows there won’t be conflict over that. 

It reminds Puck that the only time they’ve kissed, the only time it’s been in any way sexual, it was when they were drunk, and that might not be the best predictor. What if there’s something that turns out to be completely incompatible, after all, and they don’t realize it until they’ve figured every other piece out? Puck knows it’s probably not something to really worry about, but once he has the thought, he can’t quite get it out of his head. 

He mulls it over the entire week-long stretch of rain, and the same day the weather breaks, both of them come home with less work to do than usual. Puck takes that as a sign, and when they’re both relaxed and sitting in the front of the TV, he decides that neither of them care _enough_ about Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. to use it as an excuse. When it goes into the first commercial, he goes with his gut and slides his hand, palm-up, under Finn’s where it’s resting on the sofa between them. He curls the tips of his fingers up just enough to give Finn’s hand a light squeeze. 

“Hey,” he says softly. 

“Hey,” Finn says, looking away from the TV at Puck.

“I was thinking… I think we should probably finish that conversation from January.” 

Finn picks up the remote with his other hand and mutes the TV. “Okay.”

“Hopefully without the getting mad part. I’m not totally sure why either of us got as upset as we did,” Puck says. 

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Finn says. “It probably made more sense while it was happening than it did when I thought about it later.”

“But if we’re going to have that other talk sooner or later, we should have this one.” 

“Okay. You can start, I guess.”

“Uh, okay. I mean, I was just guessing?” Puck says. “But then it was like whatever I guessed you were upset about.” 

“I think it was just, you know, uncomfortable topics or whatever,” Finn says. 

“They kind of can’t be, though,” Puck points out. 

“I think it was the context, mostly. The guessing. Also the dining hall.”

“Okay, not a great setting,” Puck says, “but I still don’t really get how we got to the point of value judgments and all of that.” 

“I guess I was just surprised you would think I was the kind of person who didn’t like going down on his partner, is all,” Finn says. 

“And what ‘kind of person’ is that?” Puck says. “I don’t understand why it has to be a bad thing.” 

“I don’t know. It sounded like you maybe thought I was selfish or something.”

“So.” Puck stops and gathers his thoughts. “So that’s your dealbreaker?” 

“I didn’t say that. I just don’t want you thinking I’m some way about it that I’m not. I don’t want you to think I’m, I don’t know, somebody who only wants to do something if he’s getting something, too,” Finn says. 

Puck frowns. “Why would I make a leap from a specific thing to some big character trait?” 

“I don’t know! It felt like that thing. The language code thing. Coded language!”

“I was _guessing_ and we were sort of having fun, I thought, and then I found out I’m selfish, so I don’t see how you get to be the one talking about coded language,” Puck says with a huff. “I’m not trying to, I don’t know, _trap_ you.” 

“Who said anything about _you_ , though? You were talking about _me_ not liking it,” Finn says. 

“You just said it, ‘somebody who only wants to do something if he’s getting something’,” Puck says. “That’s what you said all of thirty seconds ago.” 

“Yeah, and I would feel selfish if I was that way, but that’s not about you! Well, I mean, it’s not about you in the _doing_ sense,” Finn says. “I didn’t want you to think I’d be grossed out by it, you know? I would want to do it.”

“But you used general-people language, so it sounded like you were talking about your opinion of everyone,” Puck says. 

“Well, I was trying to be general because I don’t exactly have any experience with guys to talk about specifically,” Finn says. 

“Yeah, I didn’t get any of that out of it,” Puck admits. “It sounded more like ‘if you don’t like going down on people, you’re a selfish asshole’.” 

“Oh my God, Puck, I didn’t say that. You’re the one who took something I was saying about me and made it into me saying something about you, and all I was trying to do is let you know I liked doing it, and I wouldn’t like it any less with—” Finn breaks off and turns a little red. “You know. A guy.”

“I didn’t make it about _me_ , I thought you were talking about everyone,” Puck says defensively. “Hence the question about it being a dealbreaker!” 

“It’s not a dealbreaker! I don’t expect everybody to like the same stuff as me, and there’s plenty of other stuff I can do with someone if they don’t like that,” Finn says. 

“But why would you think _I_ thought you were selfish or whatever?” 

“I don’t know, it just sounded that way! Like maybe you were trying to give me an out or something, or you were trying to let me know you didn’t really think I’d be into guys, or wouldn’t be good at it or something.”

“Oh my God,” Puck says. “I don’t think you’d be bad at it.” 

“Because I wouldn’t be. I mean, I would be enthusiastic, at least, and that has to count for something, right?” Finn says. 

Puck barely laughs for a few seconds. “Yeah, that counts for a lot, I think,” he says. “But I don’t think you’re selfish, for the record.” 

“Okay. Well, that’s good. Because I’m not,” Finn says. “Not with sex stuff, anyway.”

“The only thing you’re selfish about is pie. Pie and blankets.” 

“I’m not selfish about blankets!” Finn insists. 

“How many sleepovers did I wake up freezing because you’d rolled up in all of the blankets? All of them, unless it was June or July,” Puck says. 

“I get tangled. It’s not on purpose!”

“The result was the same,” Puck says. “ _Freezing_.” 

“You just have to tuck them in on your side, up under the mattress,” Finn says. 

“So I have to tuck all the blankets in, then carefully climb in from the other side, and hope you’re weaker than the gravitational force holding the mattress down on top of them?” 

Finn nods. “Or, you know. You could cuddle.”

“Yeah?” Puck says, holding back a grin. “Do you like _that_?” 

“Uh, duh. You’ve met me, right?”

“Once or twice, yeah.” Puck doesn’t say anything for a few moments, looking at Finn out of the corner of his eye. “I like hands,” he offers quietly. 

“Holding them?” Finn asks. 

“Not _just_ holding, no.” 

“Oh. Like… yours on other people? Or other people’s on you?”

“Yeah, both of those,” Puck says. “Pretty much anything you can think of.” 

“You know,” Finn says, looking down at their loosely-joined hands, “I have pretty big hands.”

“I know,” Puck says smugly. 

“So that’s good, then?” Finn asks. 

“Good for me, yeah,” Puck says, and he squeezes his fingers around Finn’s. 

“How much longer until we can talk about it a little more specifically, do you think?” Finn asks. 

“I know it’s a lot to do at once, but we should probably do _all_ of it at once. Grad school, everything,” Puck says. 

“So… still not tonight.”

“Do you really want it to be any night we have to get up with an alarm the next morning?” Puck asks. 

Finn exhales loudly, like he might have been holding his breath after his last statement. “Yeah, you’ve got a point.”

“And I definitely don’t think you’re inconsiderate or anything,” Puck says. “Okay?” 

“Okay. I don’t think you are either.”

“We’re pretty good, you know,” Puck says.

“Oh yeah?” Finn says. “Good at what?”

“Good at communicating. Good together. Good people. Good at life,” Puck says. “Take your pick.” 

Finn nods, leaning some of his weight against Puck, shoulder to shoulder. “Yeah. We are good.”

“And we’re going to be ready,” Puck says. “Right?” 

Finn tilts his head and slides a little lower so he can rest his head on Puck’s shoulder. “Yeah. We’re going to be ready.”

They sit there for at least a minute before Puck glances back at the TV. “Oops,” he says mildly. “Guess what?” 

“What?”

“We, uh, missed the rest of the episode,” Puck says. 

“Oops. Catch it on Hulu tomorrow?” Finn suggests. 

“Or this weekend, if tomorrow gets busy again,” Puck says as he nods. “We’ve got time.” 

 

Puck isn’t the best at remembering to check his physical mail, but once he sent off his grad school applications, he had started making a habit of checking twice a week or so. Still, it doesn’t come easily, which is why Puck ends up walking to the student center not long before noon on a Saturday, while Finn has lunch with Carole again. Unlike the other times he’s checked, this time there are two envelopes in his mailbox, and Puck stands there for awhile, trying to decide what to do. 

Part of him had had a probably-dramatic idea about waiting until he had the letters from _all_ of the grad schools he’d applied to, and Finn had all of his, and doing some kind of paired-up mass opening. Faced with the actual envelopes, though, Puck isn’t sure he wants to wait, or that he can without making himself some kind of crazy. 

The burden of almost knowing but not quite ends up to be too strong, and Puck walks over to a bench to open them. The first one, University of Cincinnati, isn’t one of his first choices, but an acceptance would still be an acceptance, and the program at the second one, University of Toledo, is more along the lines of what Puck’s looking for. He takes a deep breath and rips into both envelopes, reading the letters one after the other. 

He exhales slowly and reads over them a second time, more slowly, before pulling out his phone to send a text to Finn. 

_well Cincy is in the mix_

_Yeah?_ Finn texts back, followed by a second text. _Letter?_

_Two. Toledo’s out_

_Oh man sorry_

_No one bats 1000 right?_ Puck sends. _Guess we’ll know soon_

_Guess I better check my mail at some point too huh?_

_Yeah probably. We’ll save the envelopes and any rejections and have a bonfire next month._

Finn doesn’t text back for a few minutes, then _I hope we don’t have enough rejections for a bonfire!_

_I said envelopes too!_

Finn texts back a series of emojis that include several distressed-looking faces and the fire and volcano emojis. Puck snorts as he laughs, then sends a single poop emoji. Finn doesn’t respond, which probably means that he’s laughing too hard and having to attempt to explain why to Carole, and Puck stands. He puts both letters in his pocket and heads to one of the kiosks to get some hot chocolate, then heads back to the dorm. 

He sighs a little as he puts the letters on his desk and sits down on his bed. “Soon, I guess,” he says out loud to himself. “Soon enough.”


	6. March, Part 2

When Finn gets in from student teaching, he finds a small basket sitting on Puck’s desk. It looks like it’s probably meant to be a child’s Easter basket. The sides all have characters from _Frozen_. The label taped to the side, written in Puck’s handwriting, says ‘kindling’. The basket contains a few ripped up envelopes and torn and/or crumpled sheets of paper. 

Finn digs around in his bag until he finds the rejection letter from Bowling Green. He tears the envelope in half, wads up the letter, and adds them to the basket. After that, he changes out of his work clothes, heats up some leftover lo mein, and turns the TV on. 

When Puck gets back, he sets his backpack in his desk chair, and he straightens back up with a grin. “You found it. You like the theme?” 

“It’s festive,” Finn says. “Are we letting it go?”

“Exactly!” Puck toes off his shoes and then drops down on the sofa next to Finn, looking at Finn’s lo mein and then opening his mouth expectantly. Finn picks up a noodle and dangles it over Puck’s mouth until Puck snaps at it, barely catching the end. Finn laughs and lets the noodle drop. Puck slurps the rest of it into his mouth before also laughing. 

“You look like a bird with a worm,” Finn says. 

“Is that a bad thing?” 

“It’s a funny thing,” Finn says, holding out another noodle for Puck. 

Puck slurps the second noodle into his mouth, then chirps, looking at Finn questioningly afterwards. 

“What?” Finn asks. “You want more?”

Puck chirps again, then laughs. “I got one that _doesn’t_ go in kindling today.” 

“Oh yeah? Where?” 

“The collaborative one out of Wright State,” Puck says. 

“Oh, you really liked that one, didn’t you?” Finn asks. 

“It’s not my _top_ choice, but yeah, it has a good feel to it,” Puck says as he nods. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad we did things the way we did, but we never had that experience of feeling judged, coming out of McKinley into college.” 

“Yeah,” Finn says. “Rejection letters definitely feel a lot like pretty much every other kind of rejection.”

“Maybe a little worse. It’s like, not only did you come up lacking, but we’re going to send you something in writing about it,” Puck says with a wince. 

“Doesn’t feel great.”

“I can rationalize it. Like, sure, sometimes you date someone and they’re a great person, but they’re not great for you, and maybe that’s how the grad school feels about you, you know? Great person, just not great for their program or whatever. But it’d be nice if the rejection letters were more affirming and less pretending to be apologetic,” Puck says. He leans his head on Finn’s shoulder, no longer chirping periodically. 

“You want to burn them now?” Finn asks. “I put one of mine in there, too.”

“We should wait until they’re all in. Having two burning sessions would be worse, I think,” Puck says. 

“Maybe if we burned what we have now, it would tell the universe we’re done getting rejections,” Finn says. 

Puck laughs softly. “Yeah, maybe so. After dinner. Or is that all you’re eating for dinner?” 

“I didn’t have the energy to walk to the dining hall until you got here.”

“I’m better than sugar and caffeine?” 

“Well, yeah, duh,” Finn says. 

“I should have put _that_ on my grad school applications,” Puck says. He straightens and stretches, then stands and offers Finn his hand. “C’mon, we’ll go face down the dining hall. It’s got to be less terrifying than high school students.” 

“Yeah, pretty much everything is,” Finn agrees. 

“See, it’ll fortify you to go back into, uh, battle? Tomorrow.” 

 

Finn gets a few more letters to add to the Let It Go kindling bucket over the next week. Puck gets another two rejections—into the bucket—and then three letters of acceptance, one right after the other. They tape all their acceptance letters to the back of the dorm door so they can stand and stare at them, four for Puck and three for Finn.

“Almost all of them,” Puck says as they’re doing just that, staring at the back of the door. 

“Some of them are even in more or less the same place,” Finn says. “So that’s something, right?”

“And none of them are here in Lima, which means we really are leaving this town. That’s a little mind-blowing, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah. Not sure if I’m relieved or excited or both.”

“Definitely both. Hell, we can be anyone we want to be, somewhere else. There’s all kinds of things we never have to tell people if we don’t want to,” Puck says. 

Finn laughs. “We could even go by different names if we wanted. Our middle names. Nicknames.”

“You’ve just been dying to call me Abel, Christopher?” 

“I could just call you Abe,” Finn says. “And I could be Chris or something. _Not_ Topher, though, because that’s just lame.”

“If I called you Topher, I’d end up calling you Gopher within a week or two. Then you’d have to find an animal name to call me.” 

“Ape. Or I’d skip the animals and call you Label or Mabel.” 

“Ape and Gopher. Why didn’t we hit on this when we were still in elementary school and this would have been cool?” Puck asks. 

“I’m thinking our moms would have put a stop to it,” Finn says. “You know how my mom was. ‘Finn! No name-calling!’ even if it was a name you liked to be called.”

Puck snorts, then clearly makes an effort to have a straight face. “Do you think she’d still do that?” 

“Probably,” Finn says. “‘Finn! Don’t call him an ape! That’s so rude!’”

“You think she still would if it were, you know, pet names or something? ‘Cause she didn’t get it?” 

Finn laughs. “Who knows? My mom’s weird sometimes.”

“I hate to break it to you, but it’s more than sometimes,” Puck says, finally cracking a grin. “It’s true, though. We could go by whatever we wanted to.” 

“We could start new hobbies. Pick new teams to root for.”

“That probably wouldn’t be the smartest move if we end up in Cleveland, though,” Puck points out. “We could take up squash. That’s the one with the glassed-in courts, right?” 

“Is squash the same as racquetball?” Finn asks. 

“I have no idea,” Puck admits. “Maybe they use different lines or something. At least we could probably use the same racquet for both?” 

“We should start watching some new shows, too,” Finn says. “Give us something different to talk about at work. We could pick some serious crime drama, or maybe one of the political ones. It would make us seem deeper and smarter.”

“Like the one on Netflix?” Puck says. “That’d give us something to watch over the summer, at least.” He pauses and then nudges Finn’s shoulder, nodding toward the sofa. “You don’t have too much to do tonight, right?” 

“Right,” Finn says. “What’s up?” He sits on his side of the sofa, waiting for Puck to sit down, too. 

Puck sits down next to him and shrugs. “I never told you that you were right.” 

Finn raises his eyebrows. “Right about what?”

“The night of the Super Bowl.” 

“Oh yeah?” Finn says. “I’m thinking you don’t mean about the actual game.”

“I _wish_ you’d been right about the actual game,” Puck says, almost grumbling, then he shakes his head. “No, afterwards. I mean, you were right about it being important, and I was pretty damn drunk, instead.” 

Finn nods slowly. “Yeah. We were both pretty damn drunk. It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”

“I don’t think it has to be something _perfect_ ,” Puck says. “But not that, either.” 

“Yeah.” Finn nods again. “And maybe it doesn’t have to be all at once, either.”

“Yeah?” Puck says, tilting his head a little questioningly. 

“Yeah,” Finn says. He leans in a little closer. “Like I don’t think it has to go from zero to 60. Maybe we could try just a little without it going all the way.”

Puck grins. “Stay in the twenty-five miles-per-hour school zone?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah. The ‘look Ma, no hands’ zone.”

“I can handle that for now,” Puck says, shifting even closer to Finn. 

“Yeah?” Finn asks. Puck nods. Finn leans in and gently presses his lips to Puck’s. He can feel Puck still grinning as they kiss, and Puck shifts again, bringing a little more pressure against Finn’s lips. 

Instead of rushing ahead this time, Finn moves slowly, listening to Puck’s breathing and focusing on how his lips feel and taste as they barely part. Puck does put one hand lightly on Finn’s shoulder, almost like he’s balancing himself, and his breath gets a little more shallow. Finn doesn’t deepen the kiss much, just letting the two of them kiss with slightly parted lips. 

Puck’s thigh is touching Finn’s, and he holds himself almost still, like he’s afraid to move too much. Finn turns his body toward Puck a little more, putting one hand on the back of Puck’s head. Puck seems to relax into the kiss a little more, the hand on Finn’s shoulder getting a little heavier. 

They kiss for what feels to Finn like a long time, until he realizes they’ve both started breathing more heavily and their hands are starting to move on each other, Finn’s hand running down Puck’s back and Puck’s moving up and down Finn’s arm, pulling him forward slightly. Puck stops kissing Finn almost abruptly, pulling back just slightly. 

“Whoops,” Puck says, half-grinning at Finn. “We’re going to get a ticket at this rate.” 

“Yeah,” Finn says. He returns Puck’s smile. “Guess we’d better take a break, huh?”

“Yeah.” Puck lets his hand fall from Finn’s arm, and he picks up one of Finn’s in it. “Twenty-five miles per hour turns out to be pretty good too, though.”

“We’ll get there on purpose eventually,” Finn says. 

Puck squeezes Finn’s hand. “Not too much longer. It’ll be good.” 

 

“How great was our timing?” Puck says as they step onto the Greyhound bus at the downtown Greyhound station for their spring break trip to Philly. “Cheap tickets and we only have to wait thirty minutes total before departure.”

“Which is good, since the ride’s going to be so long,” Finn says. 

“But we have fully-charged electronic devices and three stops,” Puck says. “You want window or aisle?” 

“Aisle, so I’ve got legroom.”

“Figured,” Puck says, sliding into a window seat and dropping his bag on the floor in front of him. “Calling me short again?” 

“I’ll keep calling you short until you stop being short,” Finn says, sitting next to Puck and bumping his knee against Puck’s. 

“Everyone’s short according to you, though.” Puck pulls his iPad out of his bag, then settles back against the seat. He picks up Finn’s arm and slides his shoulders underneath it with a grin. “What should we watch first?” 

“ _Mockingjay - Part 2_ ,” Finn says. 

“Cool. I think you have the splitter right now,” Puck says as he connects to the in-bus WiFi. Finn unzips the front pocket of his bag and digs around for the splitter, then hands it to Puck. Puck finishes all of the set up, then leans against Finn more snugly as he positions the iPad between them. “Any glare?” 

“Nah, I’m good.”

When the movie ends, a little bit past Columbus, Puck is as sprawled as someone can be in a Greyhound bus, stretched out over his seat and part of Finn. “Want to save some battery for once it gets later?” Puck asks. 

“Hmm. Yeah, we should probably do that,” Finn says. “Want to take a nap?”

“Maybe. If we fall asleep, we fall asleep. So now that we’re going to end up in Philly, what do you want to see?” 

“Liberty Bell,” Finn says right away. “I’ve always wanted to since I was a kid.”

“Yeah? Why didn’t I know that?” Puck asks. 

Finn shrugs, jostling Puck slightly. “I don’t know. I guess I tried not to talk about going places too much, so Mom wouldn’t feel bad we couldn’t really afford it.”

“So what are some other places you want to visit?” 

“San Francisco. I want to see the Golden Gate Bridge, and Alcatraz, and that crazy zigzag street,” Finn says. “What about you?”

“The Space Needle,” Puck says. “And Roswell, New Mexico. Wouldn’t that be awesome?” 

“Vegas, too, and Reno. Probably Atlantic City,” Finn says. 

“Oh my god, you want to gamble,” Puck says, sounding delighted. 

Finn shrugs again, intentionally jostling Puck this time. “I always like the idea of being a high roller. I’d even wear a white tuxedo.”

“You want me to sit up?” Puck asks, but if anything, he slouches against Finn more heavily. “I can’t believe I didn’t realize you were a gambler in the making.” 

“I wouldn’t want to do it all the time, but just once in each place would be fun.”

“No compulsive gambling in your future, but a few trips?” Puck says. “You want to do one of those gambling cruises?” 

“I don’t know. Mom says cruise ships are full of germs,” Finn says. 

“Okay, so do you want to do one of those gambling cruises _with_ a classroom-sized bottle of hand sanitizer?” 

“Nah, I think we should stick to Vegas. It’s got so many lights!”

“No water, huh?” Puck guesses. 

Finn shakes his head. “I just think cruises aren’t for me. I’ll water your plants and feed your cat when you go on a cruise, though.”

“Why would I go on a cruise without you?” 

“You might still want to go. I wouldn’t keep you from taking a cruise if you wanted to.”

“Yeah, going on a cruise with Jake’d be a real high point of my year,” Puck says. “We could take our moms, really up the party quotient.” 

“Okay, no cruises,” Finn says. “We could go see Mount Rushmore, though. That would be cool.”

“Yeah, and maybe that geyser. Old Faithful,” Puck says. 

“Where’s that, Yellowstone?” Finn asks. 

“Yeah. After this trip, we have to add something to the packing list,” Puck says innocently. 

“Hmm?”

“Sandals,” Puck says. “And socks to go with them.” 

“Oh no, are we _those_ tourists?” Finn asks. 

“I like a tourist trap,” Puck says. “I found a list of the top ten once, and I’ve already been to three of them!” 

“Well, they usually have fudge,” Finn says. “So there’s worse things.”

“And taffy, and lots of deals online,” Puck says. “Plus, even with our socks and sandals, we wouldn’t be the dorkiest people there.” 

“We should buy T-shirts from all the places we visit. Collecting T-shirts could be part of our new hobbies!” Finn says. 

“When we go someplace new, we can wear the t-shirts from the other places we’ve been.” 

“We just have to decide if we get different ones each place, or ones that match each other.”

“Two each. One that matches, one that doesn’t,” Puck says. 

Finn shifts in his seat and lets Puck resettle against him. “That works. We can choose whether we feel like being matchy that day or not.”

“I have to inform you of something,” Puck says solemnly. 

“Yeah?” Finn asks, closing his eyes. 

“We may seriously have to consider going by other, dorkier names.” 

“All the time?” Finn asks. He relaxes back in his seat, not feeling particularly concerned by the possibility of dorky names. 

“All the time, Christopher.” 

“Works for me, Abel,” Finn says. 

 

Finn and Puck have already bought matching shirts that say ‘City of Brotherly Love’ by the time they leave the hostel to walk to the Liberty Bell. They’re more than halfway done with the four block walk when Puck nudges Finn and points. 

“Hey, look. National Museum of American Jewish History,” Puck says. 

“Cool,” Finn says. “Want to go after we see the Liberty Bell?”

“You can take a picture of me at the end of the exhibits, and we’ll caption it ‘future featured exhibition’,” Puck says. 

“I’ll take pictures of you everywhere, and we’ll post them on Facebook.”

“I thought we were going to do that anyway,” Puck says. “But you get first go at the Liberty Bell.” 

“Thanks,” Finn says. He puts his arm around Puck’s waist while they walk. It feels nice, having his arm around Puck like that. They walk to the Liberty Bell, which is pretty much exactly what Finn expected, a large metal bell with a crack in it. Puck takes a picture of Finn in front of the Bell, then Finn takes a picture of Puck in front of the Bell, then they stand close together and take a selfie with the Bell in the background. Finn tucks his phone back into his pockets after he posts the pictures to Facebook. 

“Was it what you hoped?” Puck asks. 

“Well, it was a really big bell,” Finn says. “Now I can say I’ve seen it, at least.”

“Bucket list worthy?” 

“Yeah, but only because you were here with me. Otherwise, it would just be a big bell.”

“I’m going to put that in my review of it. ‘Must be seen with the right company, or otherwise, it’s just a big bell’,” Puck says. 

“Yeah, exactly,” Finn says. 

“Do you feel that you missed out on part of the experience by not already having socks and sandals?” Puck asks as they walk back towards the Jewish museum. 

Finn laughs, putting his arm around Puck’s waist again. “You know what? Yeah, I kind of do.”

“You didn’t feel quite Midwestern enough, I’m thinking,” Puck says. 

“Definitely not,” Finn says. “We’ve got to work on that.”

“Hmm, what’s really Midwestern,” Puck says thoughtfully. “I mean, aside from making sure I throw in a few Christophers.” 

“Casserole, Cedar Point, and pop?”

“We can each learn how to make a casserole with the recipe memorized, I guess,” Puck says. 

“Then we’ll have plenty of Midwest to match our socks and sandals,” Finn says. “That’ll be nice.”

“Only nice… Christopher?” 

“Really nice, Abel,” Finn says. 

“I’m going to let you explain those to your mother,” Puck says. 

“Mom doesn’t need to know,” Finn says, “and what she knows won’t confuse her.”

Puck laughs. “But not everything that happens in Philly has to stay in Philly, right?” 

“No?”

“For starters, you just posted those pictures on Facebook.” 

“Yeah,” Finn says. “Shouldn’t I have?”

Puck laughs. “I’m just saying, most people on Facebook aren’t in Philly.” 

“So?” Finn says. 

“So it can’t all stay in Philly. That’s all.” 

“I never thought it would,” Finn says. “I figured everybody’d find out eventually.”

Puck stops in front of the Jewish museum, grinning at Finn and looking like he might start laughing. “Find out what, Mr. Midwestern?” 

“That we like to take vacations together, obviously,” Finn says, starting to laugh himself. 

“Don’t forget the matching t-shirts. Those are obvious, too.” 

“Then I guess nobody’s really going to be that surprised, are they?”

Puck shakes his head. “Nope. Let’s go find out what I have to do to get that future exhibit.”


	7. April, Part 1

The two of them are in Philadelphia almost all of spring break before they take the Greyhound back to Lima. It would have been even cheaper to go back if they’d been able to wait until Monday, but with their internship and student teaching resuming on Monday morning, it isn’t a simple matter of excusing the idea of skipping classes. Puck drapes Finn’s arm over his shoulders again, and that’s how they spend most of the ride back. 

One transfer and over sixteen hours later, and they’re back in Lima, and when Finn walks over to retrieve their bags, Puck just watches him. It takes him a few seconds to process what he’s feeling, and when he names it, he grins, catching Finn’s eye as he does. It’s a kind of pride, like all of him wants to point at Finn and inform everyone there that, yeah, that one _right there_ , he goes with Puck. He doesn’t say anything out loud, especially since the Greyhound station doesn’t have enough people to make it really fulfilling, but he thinks about it. 

Sunday is mostly laundry, and on Monday morning, the alarm blares. It’s the home stretch, Puck reminds himself, but all that really does is make him double-check his own calendar and Finn’s too for Saturday. Nothing listed, nothing Puck can think of that they’ve forgotten, and that makes Friday night a good time. After his seminar wraps up—with a reminder of how few meetings they have remaining, and how their end-of-term self-assessments are due before too long—Puck drives up to Findlay to the Lebanese place they like to get takeout from sometimes. He starts mentally adding up everything he wanted to get, then decides it’s easiest to get the ‘3-4 people party pleaser’. They can always eat the leftovers. 

Puck still makes it back to the dorm ahead of Finn, which isn’t surprising since seminar let out pretty early. Puck has enough time to set out the food and change clothes before he hears Finn’s key in the door. 

“There’s kabobs,” Puck says immediately as the door opens. “And falafel.” 

“For real? You’re the _best_!” Finn says. 

“Possibly. There’s even more, ‘cause I just got one of their party trays,” Puck admits. 

“Hey! Even better!” 

“Why go to Findlay if there’s not leftovers, right?” Puck says as Finn changes clothes. 

“Exactly!” Finn says over his shoulder. “Did you get enough sauce?”

“You and your gyro sauce. Yes,” Puck says. “Or at least I got enough for most normal humans.” 

“Define ‘normal’,” Finn says. 

“Why do I suspect that no matter what my definition is, you’ll find a way to be _not_ normal?”

“But are you talking like normal _size_ or normal _brain_ or what?”

“Normal lovers of gyro sauce, which I think you might actually fall into?” Puck says. 

“I think I have an above-average love of gyro sauce,” Finn says. 

“Just make a plate,” Puck says with a snort, putting food on a plate for himself. “If you run out, we can revisit.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Finn says. He tugs on his t-shirt and then gets a plate and starts piling food onto it. 

“You don’t have anywhere to be tomorrow, right?” Puck asks as he sits down with his plate. 

“Nope,” Finn says through a full mouth. “What’s up?”

Puck takes a bite and shrugs. “It’s April. I think we have all the letters now. And eventually I want a dog.” 

“Oh. Okay. Eventually when?”

“Eventually when we don’t have to take the dog down flights of stairs to get outside,” Puck says.

“Okay. Yeah, I like dogs, so that’s cool,” Finn says. “Dogs are good.”

“One thing we agree on down,” Puck says, then eats another bite before taking a deep breath. “So where are we going?” 

“Well, my options are OSU, Wright State in Dayton, and Cleveland State, so those are my cards on the table.”

“And we overlap on those, so that’s something.” Puck kicks his backpack towards Finn. “Tell me if I got into the Case Western program or not. I might’ve been carrying the letter around for a day or two.” 

Finn nods and unzips Puck’s backpack, taking out the Case Western envelope. He rips it open and pulls out the letter, his eyes quickly scanning across the page before he looks up at Puck and grins. “Yup.”

Puck sags back against the sofa, remembering just in time not to let the hand holding his plate relax too much. “Really?” 

“Come on, man, would I lie about that?” Finn says, handing Puck the letter. “You got in. If that’s where you want to go, you can go there.”

“Do _you_ want to go to Cleveland State?” 

“More than I want to go to Dayton,” Finn says. 

“I mean, OSU’s not a bad program, if you’d rather go there,” Puck says, looking down at the Case Western letter and skimming it a second time. 

“Yeah, it’s not bad,” Finn says, “and Cleveland State’s good, too. They’re both good. Same with yours. They all look good.”

“Do you want to live in Cleveland, though?” Puck asks. “I mean, Case Western’s like… a top ten program.” 

“Is that where you really want to go?”

Puck nods. “And Case Western and Cleveland State aren’t far apart.” 

“Yeah, I noticed that the addresses were almost the same,” Finn says. “I liked Cleveland State’s program a lot.”

“We could get an apartment between the two campuses.” 

Finn nods. “That would be nice.”

“One bedroom, right?” 

Half of Finn’s mouth lifts into a smile. “Would be kind of a waste of money to get a two bedroom, wouldn’t it?”

“Well, I mean, if you thought you needed some office space, but it’s probably not the most cost-effective way to get that.” 

“Maybe we could get one of those lofts, where it’s all one big open space,” Finn says. 

“So if your classes started before mine, I could stay in bed and watch you make yourself breakfast?” 

“I could make both of us breakfast.”

“Either way, I’d get to watch, though,” Puck says. He takes a final bit of his food and sets his plate down. “And I’d want to.” 

“Yeah?” Finn asks. 

“Yeah. Propped up on pillows and offering you suggestions,” Puck says, sliding closer to Finn. “Don’t worry, on Sundays, I’ll make brunch and you can return the favor before we turn on the game.” 

“Sounds like a pretty good situation we’re gonna have set up there,” Finn says. 

“Yeah? Something you want?” 

Finn’s smile gets wider. “Yeah. It’s something I want.”

“Any details you want to add, then?” Puck asks. 

“I want our own washer and dryer, so we don’t have to use the laundromat.”

“We could go naked on laundry day. Okay. Anything _else_?” 

Finn’s face gets a little red. “I don’t know. Now I’m just thinking about laundry day.”

“Yeah?” Puck picks up Finn’s hand and interlaces their fingers. “What about it?” 

Finn shrugs, and ducks his head, his face turning redder until even the tips of his ears are kind of pink. “You know. Naked stuff.”

“Mmmhmm. You could tell me more detail. We don’t have to be anywhere for a long time,” Puck says. 

“Thought we were waiting until we really had time to figure it out,” Finn says. “Do we have that kind of time now?”

“I think the details count as part of it.” 

“Yeah, but I’m afraid if I start telling you details, it won’t just be talking for that long.”

Puck grins and squeezes Finn’s hand. “Afraid?” 

“It’s important, remember?” Finn says. “Too important to rush.”

“I know. I’m not saying we should rush, just that maybe this _is_ part of all of it.” 

Finn nods. “Okay. Yeah.” He sets his plate to the side, too. “So… so you said you like hands?”

“Yeah, I do,” Puck says. 

“So probably laundry day would involve a lot of hands. Touching.”

Puck shifts on the sofa, turning towards Finn. “Yeah? Touching where?” 

“I’d probably start with your head and work down from there,” Finn says. 

“Anywhere in particular you wanted to linger?” 

“On your head?”

“Not just there,” Puck says, sticking out his tongue briefly. 

“I’d probably spend a lot of time on your chest and arms. You’ve always had great arms,” Finn says. “But I think probably your back, too.”

Puck grins a little. “Thought about it?” Finn nods. “You want to show me?” 

“I don’t think it’s the same if you’ve got a shirt on,” Finn says. 

“Is that a request?” 

Finn ducks his head again, but he also nods. “Yeah.”

Puck’s grin gets a little wider, and he releases Finn’s hand so he can pull his t-shirt off and toss it to the side. “Better?” 

“Yeah,” Finn says, reaching out to touch the center of Puck’s chest with his fingertips. “Better.” Puck puts his hand lightly on top of Finn’s, moving just a little closer. Finn trails his fingers down Puck’s chest, watching his own hand with Puck’s on top of it. 

“Like you thought about?” 

“Yeah,” Finn says, voice a little breathy. He slides his thumb sideways, barely grazing Puck’s right nipple. Puck leans in and kisses Finn softly. Finn’s lips part, his thumb sliding over Puck’s nipple again. Puck can feel his chest wiggle a little, even though it doesn’t really tickle, and he kisses Finn a little harder. 

Finn’s other hand presses against Puck’s upper back, between his shoulder blades, then slowly slides down to his lower back. Puck moves closer, putting his free hand on Finn’s neck. Finn must take that as some kind of cue, because his mouth opens wider and his tongue darts against Puck’s. Puck grins into the kiss as it deepens, his hand gripping a little tighter. 

“As good as you thought? Better?” Puck asks quietly. 

“Better,” Finn says, then kisses Puck again. 

Puck keeps kissing Finn for a long time before he pulls back, smiling at Finn. “What else did you want to touch? The way I figure it, we have all weekend. For however we want to use it.” 

“Yeah, if I touch everything I want to touch, we’re definitely getting a ticket for speeding,” Finn says. The hand on Puck’s back slides lower, Finn’s finger slipping under the waistband of Puck’s jeans. “So we’d better decide if this is it.”

“I think there's no ticketing if this is it,” Puck says. “I think it could be.”

“Are we going to flunk out of our last semester because we can’t keep our hands off each other, though?” Finn asks, sliding his hand lower, to the top of Puck’s ass. 

“We’re almost there, and we have to learn before the fall, I guess,” Puck says, his smile getting wider. 

“Learn what?” Finn asks. He runs the hand on Puck’s chest farther down, across Puck’s stomach, and to the button on his jeans. 

“Not to flunk out ‘cause we stayed in bed all day.” 

“Yeah, that’s true. We should probably practice that a lot, just to be on the safe side.”

Puck nods, reaching to put his hand barely under Finn’s t-shirt. “Exactly. Bank some in-bed time during the summer, too.” 

“Oh yeah. Definitely need to do that,” Finn says. He pops open the button on Puck’s jeans. 

“You definitely need to take off this t-shirt, too,” Puck says as he pushes it upward as he moves his hands. 

“No, _you_ need to take off this shirt. _My_ hands are otherwise occupied,” Finn says. 

Puck laughs. “Did you want me to just rip it off instead of making you move your hands?” 

“I never did like this shirt that much.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Puck says, leaning forward to kiss Finn again, his hands still pushing Finn’s t-shirt up. Finn does at least twist and hunch his shoulders enough to help Puck get the shirt mostly off. Once it’s primarily on Finn’s arms, Puck grabs one sleeve and really does rip it before doing the same on the other sleeve. 

“Dude,” Finn says quietly. “You ripped my shirt off.”

“You said you didn’t like it that much.” 

“That was like _really_ fucking hot.”

“You can probably get a bunch of the white t-shirts on amazon cheap or something,” Puck says. He runs his hands over Finn’s shoulders and shrugs. “I mean, if you want to.” 

“Yeah, you can do that again,” Finn says. “Kind of not worrying about the speeding thing anymore.” He unzips Puck’s jeans. “I don’t think I can rip these, though.”

“Yeah, they’re not as cheap,” Puck says, lifting his hips up slightly. Finn tugs the jeans down past Puck’s hips, low enough for Puck to wriggle out of them. Puck drops back down, and he moves his legs so they’re on top of one of Finn’s. 

“Really happening?” Finn says. He puts his hands high on Puck’s legs. 

“Yeah. Really happening,” Puck says as he nods. 

Finn slides both hands up to Puck’s hips. “Really really?”

“If I get your pants off, will that help?” 

“Yeah. No ripping, though,” Finn says. 

“I’ll buy you some cheap sweatpants or something,” Puck says. He reaches for the top of Finn’s pajama pants and slides his fingers under the elastic. “Like the old Hanes ones your mom used to buy you at KMart.” 

“Sure,” Finn says, lifting his hips so Puck can pull them down past his knees. Puck drops the pants and runs his hands slowly up Finn’s thighs, watching Finn’s face. Finn’s right hand ghosts across Puck’s stomach, then Finn’s fingers lightly run along Puck’s dick. Finn’s lips are parted a little and he looks amazed, like he used to the first time he’d try one of the fair rides. 

“Get these off of you?” Puck asks, tugging a little at Finn’s boxers. 

“Yeah,” Finn says, lifting his hips again so Puck can pull the boxers off. “Now it’s fair.”

“Fairness important?” Puck teases as he pulls Finn’s boxers past his feet and tosses them in the floor. 

“Yeah. You were naked and I wasn’t. That wasn’t fair. It was one of those power imbalance things. I was still shielded by underwear,” Finn says. 

“Oh, I figured it meant _I_ had more power,” Puck says. “Power of nakedness.” 

“Either way, now it’s fair.”

“You didn’t feel compelled to do things by my nudity? That’s disappointing.” 

“Uh, my hand _is_ on your dick,” Finn says. “So, I was compelled to do that.” His hand closes firmly around Puck’s dick, possibly to prove his point. 

“Fair enough,” Puck says, putting his legs over Finn’s leg again. “Where were we again? Touching?” 

“Mmhmm,” Finn says. He moves his hand, slowly stroking Puck. Puck puts one arm over Finn’s shoulders and the other on Finn’s chest, kissing him softly. The noise Finn lets out is somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, but it’s nice. Puck deepens the kiss a little, throwing his legs over Finn’s other leg, too. Finn grabs Puck’s ass with the hand not currently occupying Puck’s dick. 

“Do we want to move to a bed?” Puck asks. “‘Cause probably we’d need to do that soonish.” 

“Yeah, that’s a good plan,” Finn says. 

Puck stands up, running his hand down Finn’s arm and grabbing his hand to tug at it. “Door’s already locked.” 

“I think we’re about to go way faster than 60,” Finn says. 

“We’ll pretend we’re on a plane. Those go a _lot_ faster, so… no longer speeding.” 

Finn follows Puck to his bed, laughing. “Yeah. Mile-high club, huh?”

“We can always put the actual mile-high club on a long-term to do list,” Puck says. He sits down on the edge of the bed and pulls Finn down too, running his free hand up Finn’s thigh slowly. Finn cups the back of Puck’s head with one hand and pulls him into a deep, hard kiss. Puck lets go of Finn’s hand and grabs at his upper arm, his grip probably a little tighter than he intends. 

After a few minutes, Finn pulls away, breathing heavily. “What if it doesn’t, you know… live up to expectations? What if you’re disappointed?”

“Finn,” Puck starts, then stops and takes both of Finn’s hands. “I won’t be.” 

“We’ve just been waiting for so long,” Finn says. 

“No, I mean, it matters, but it doesn’t.” 

“I want it all to be good for you. _I_ want to be good for you.”

“That’s what I mean. It’s us, so it will be,” Puck says. He squeezes Finn’s hands. “Okay?” 

“Okay,” Finn says. He leans in close to Puck again, kissing his neck and shoulder. Puck lets go of Finn’s hands, putting both of his hands on Finn’s hips. His hands now free, Finn wraps one arm around Puck’s waist and puts his other hand on Puck’s dick again. Puck maneuvers his position until he’s draped across Finn’s legs again, almost in his lap. Finn kisses more frantically, alternating between Puck’s neck and his mouth. 

Puck leans some of his weight on Finn, his head tilted up so they can keep kissing, and after a few more minutes pass, Puck puts his head on Finn’s shoulder. “What about _you_? What about your expectations?” 

“God, Puck, just touching you is better than I expected, and I knew it would be good,” Finn says. “I want to touch you and kiss you for hours.”

“We’ve got the time,” Puck says. “We could do _just_ that right now if you want to. Enjoy it, not rush past it.” 

“Yeah? You’re good with my hands on you all night?” Finn asks, sounding like he’s holding back laughter. He runs one hand up and down Puck’s back and keeps slowly jerking Puck off with the other. 

“You were going to stop just because the sun came up?” 

“Thought we might want to sleep at some point, is all.”

“You can leave your hands on me while we’re sleeping,” Puck says. “I wasn’t kidding about the hands thing.” 

“Yeah? You like it?” Finn asks. 

Puck wriggles a little and nods. “Yeah.” 

“You don’t want anything else touching you? Just my hands?”

“I really would be happy an entire night of hands, yeah, but if you have something else you want…” 

“I know you don’t like going down on someone, but I do, and if you want me to, I really want to,” Finn says. 

“Yeah? That’s hot, too. That you want to,” Puck says. He nods slowly. “Awesome, yeah.” 

“Lie back,” Finn says. His hand moves away from Puck’s dick and he slowly pushes Puck back against the bed. Puck reaches behind him and moves the pillow under his head, folding it over once. Finn braces his hands against Puck’s hips, pinning them to the mattress, and then his lips are on the head of Puck’s dick, slowly sliding down. 

“Okay, and hot to watch, too,” Puck says, putting one hand on top of one of Finn’s and the other lightly on the side of Finn’s head. Finn looks up at Puck and raises his eyebrows, still working his way down Puck’s dick. Puck grins. “It feels really awesome, too. It’s all hot.” 

Finn smiles, or at least, the corners of his mouth lift. He presses hard against Puck’s hips, holding him still. Puck’s grin widens and he laughs a little, dragging his fingertips across the back of Finn’s hand. 

“Don’t move, huh?” he asks Finn. Finn nods and takes Puck deeper in his mouth. His thumbs dig into Puck’s hips. “Okay, I can do that. Or not do that.” He keeps moving his fingers over the back of Finn’s hand, his eyes locked on Finn’s face. “You look incredible.” 

Finn’s eyes get squinty like they do when he’s really smiling hard. His tongue laps at Puck’s dick, rough and fast. Puck laughs again and runs his other hand through Finn’s hair. A small part of him wants to close his eyes and concentrate on how it feels, but the rest of him is enjoying watching Finn way too much to actually follow through with that thought. 

“Yeah, you like knowing that, don’t you?” Puck says. “You look so fucking hot.” 

Finn nods and grips Puck’s hips even harder, lips and tongue moving on Puck’s dick. Puck moans a little, pressing his palm against the back of Finn’s hand, and when he moans a second time, he focuses on Finn’s eyes. Finn stares up at him, making intense eye contact. After another few minutes, though, Finn raises his eyebrows and rolls his eyes up towards the ceiling briefly before making eye contact with Puck again. 

“I don’t think you want me to hit the ceiling,” Puck says teasingly, lifting his hand off Finn’s and putting it in Finn’s hair opposite his other hand. “Better?” Finn raises his eyebrows again and tips his head back the tiniest bit. Puck thinks for a few seconds, then nods. “Ohh, okay,” he says, gripping Finn’s hair tightly. “Like that?” 

Finn’s eyes get squinty again and he sucks and licks with even more enthusiasm. Puck grins at him and lets his hands move when his hips threaten to, pulling Finn’s hair and moving Finn’s head with it. The more Puck pulls Finn’s hair, the deeper Finn takes Puck’s dick into his mouth. Puck can feel his breathing get shallower, and he realizes after another minute or so that he’s tugging Finn’s head down rhythmically. 

Finn’s thumbs dig sharply into Puck’s hips, his other fingers curling around them, and Puck swears Finn isn’t even pausing for a breath. Puck realizes only when he’s about to come just how close he is, and his hands pull even harder on Finn’s hair as he does. Finn gags slightly, but then he swallows like a champ. 

“Damn,” Puck says, feeling a little buzzed. “You like… swallowed that like a champ.” 

Finn looks up and gives Puck the biggest, smuggest smile. His lips are red and swollen. “Thanks,” he says. He practically climbs up Puck’s body to kiss him, hard and open-mouthed and not a little sloppy. Finn is rock hard, his dick pressing against Puck while they kiss. 

“Yeah, you’re the best thing I’ve seen,” Puck says. 

“You’re the best thing I’ve tasted,” Finn says. 

“Just not quite there on coming during it?” Puck asks, sliding a hand between them and wrapping it around Finn’s dick. 

“Oh,” Finn breathes. “Oh, _oh_ , oh _fuck_.” His eyes squeeze shut and he lets out the hottest noise Puck has ever heard and promptly comes all over Puck’s hand and stomach. Finn exhales loudly, then his whole body goes limp and heavy on top of Puck, curled around him and breathing hard against his neck. “Fuck, I love you.”

Puck grins against the top of Finn’s head. “That good, huh?” 

Finn hums a happy sound. “I’m gonna want to do that again in about thirty minutes, okay?”

“I’m going to set a mental timer then.” 

“Can I keep holding you until then?” Finn asks. “Or you holding me, I guess. Holding each other.”

“Yeah, that sounds perfect.” 

Finn hums again, rubbing his face against Puck’s neck. “It’s a nice start, I think,” he says softly. “I think it’s a really nice start.”

Puck smiles and kisses the top of Finn’s head. “Yeah, it’s a good start.”


End file.
